


Out Late

by Harsley



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bipolar Disorder, DJ!Mickey, M/M, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workplace fic, mentions of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harsley/pseuds/Harsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's job as a radio host gets exponentially more complicated when an ambitious redhead by the name of Ian become his new producer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mandy's Move

**Author's Note:**

> Forever grateful to my beta  
> [courseweare](courseweare.tumblr.com)

It was a sad day when Derek Pope left his job at 101.7 XKN. He had been a producer at the station for many years, discovering many of the talents that became the face of Chicago talk radio. His move to Miami marked the end of an era. It was especially sad for Derek’s protégé, Mickey Milkovich, because Derek was taking Mickey’s little sister with him.

“Jesus, you look like someone drowned your puppy,” Mandy nudged him as she ate her cake.

“Traitor,” he hissed at her.

The station had decided to hold a going away party for Derek before Mickey’s show. Everyone who had worked with Derek in the Chicago area had decided to make an appearance. They all wanted to say their goodbyes and give their congratulations on his engagement to such a nice young woman. The free food and booze certainly didn’t hurt either. Especially not for the sulking Mickey, who had already drank his share of cheap champagne.

“Traitor?” Mandy asked incredulously. “You have this wonderful life all to yourself and I’m not allowed to marry the man I love? Fuck you.”

“Wonderful life? All I do is work,” Mickey argued softly, hoping not to attract unwanted attention.

“And whose fault is that?”

Mickey knew better than to argue with Mandy. She was right. She was always fucking right. He was being pissy because his best friend/boss and sister were moving halfway across the fucking country. He resented her for moving on with her life and finding someone to love while he still had one foot stuck in the Southside, one foot in this new life. And he was alone, not a single prospect for love on his radar. He resented her for being happy when he was so obviously miserable. He couldn’t tell her all that or really put it into words so he just resumed his pity party; party of one.

“I could find some hot Cuban guy for you,” Mandy offered half-heartedly.

Mickey shook his head no as Derek took to the stage, champagne glass in hand.

“Hey guys,” he began. “Just wanted to say how amazing it’s been working here for the past ten years. I met some awesome, awesome folks. But it’s time to defrost my frozen ass and move somewhere warmer. As all of you know, I’m taking my girl with me.”

Mandy blushed, actually blushed, as the people clapped and cheered for her. Derek flashed her a thousand watt smile before continuing.

“If it hadn’t been for my brightest star, and close friend, Mickey, I never would have met the love of my life. It’s hard saying goodbye to someone whose career I value almost as much as my own, but I know he’s going to do wonderful things.”

Another round of applause. Mickey saluted his former boss half-heartedly.

“In conclusion, I just want to say thank you. You guys have given me everything. I’d also like to introduce you to my replacement. He’s a Chicago native, a White Sox fan but we can forgive him for that, and an old college friend. He’s now your new senior producer. Meet Ian Gallagher.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, he appeared. The crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea to let him through to the stage. He was tall, not giant tall, but he had several inches on Mickey. He was pale like Mickey, but with faded freckles. His copper hair clipped short. He was wearing a V-neck shirt under a dark, open button-down shirt and tight jeans. Not to mention that small little smirk that would be blasphemy to even classify as a smile.

Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off this Ian Gallagher. Didn’t want to take his eyes off of Ian Gallagher. He watched Ian Gallagher give Derek a hug before making a short speech then stepping off the stage again. People seemed to clamor around him, all wanting to bask in the aura of Ian Gallagher. Mickey included.

“Take a picture, it would last longer,” Mandy smirked.

Only then did Mickey stop looking at Ian Gallagher. “Huh?”

“You know, all these years I wondered what your type would be. When you were screaming at Terry how you liked it ‘good’ and ‘hard’ I couldn’t imagine who would be giving it to you. If you were team Jacob or Edward, Peeta or Gale, Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. Turns out you like redheads.”

Mickey didn’t dignify that with an answer. He only rolled his eyes as he dug his fingers in Mandy’s cake and took a huge bite. He was licking icing off his fingers when Ian Gallagher materialized in front of him. He first embraced Mandy with a tight hug then turned to Mickey who was quickly trying to rid his hand of blue frosting.

“ _Out Late_ ,” he said in lieu of greeting.

“What?” Mickey asked, thoroughly confused.

“You host the show _Out Late_ right? Took over for Casey? I listen to it every night that it’s on. Even before I got the job I was dying to meet you.”

Mandy snorted into her champagne, earning a baffled look from Ian and a threatening one from Mickey.

“I’m gonna make sure none of these bitches try to go after my man,” she told them and disappeared into the crowd.

They turned back to each other and their eyes locked. That’s when Mickey felt it; the sweaty palms, his heart picking up speed, how he had to look anywhere but at Ian because he was like the sun- not to be stared at directly. He looked around Ian, but not into that green haze.

“You know Mandy?” he asked finally.

“Oh, yeah,” Ian nodded his head. “Derek couldn’t wait to lock her down. She’s the best thing to happen to him.”

Mickey snorts, “I think that’s the first time anyone’s said that about my sister.”

“Then they don’t know her. But look, Mickey, I just wanted you to know I’m looking to keep things fresh around here.”

That made Mickey snap his eyes back to Ian’s. His brow furrowed as he asked, “Fresh?”

“Yeah, I mean, we need to shake things up,” Ian elaborated. “For example, the sports show. I would love to get a few retired athletes to come in from time to time. And for your show—”

“Hold up, man, you ain’t touching my show.”

“You could be the next Dan Savage if we bring on a panel of various leaders in Chicago’s LGBTQIA community to speak on a variety of subjects.”

“Look, with all due respect, I’m not trying to be Dan Savage or Dr. Phil or fucking Oprah. I’m Mickey Milkovich – nice to meet you.”

Instead of extending his hand in greeting, Mickey stormed out of the room. Fuck Ian Gallagher. Fuck Mandy for leaving. Fuck Derek for taking her away. And fuck Mickey for letting all this stupid shit get to him in the first place.

* * *

 

Ian was embarrassed to admit that he was turned on. He was a red-blooded male, capable of sexual attraction and desire. He was also a professional, however. He never made the mistake of mixing the two and he wouldn’t start now. It was irrelevant that Mickey was the greatest guy he’d seen since moving back to Chicago. That thick brown hair, clear blue eyes, the crude tattoos scrawled on his knuckles. Ian wasn’t attracted to him on a surface level like a model on a glossy poster but more on a visceral level. It was without rhyme or reason. It was fucking was.

But that was irrelevant. That wasn’t why Ian followed him out onto the patio. It wasn’t why he approached him from behind and told him plainly.

“I do know you, Mickey Milkovich. I know you have five other siblings, the rest boys, all older. You grew up on the Southside – we probably played little league together – with an abusive, criminal father. He kicked you at seventeen when he found out you were gay. You bounced around to a few assorted relatives and juvenile detention before taking a few community college courses to get the Pell Grant money. You found a niche in radio broadcast and landed a job here mopping up the floors. You became friendly with Derek and he taught you the business before teaching you how to engineer. When he let you on the air, guesting on Jessa’s show, you were a hit. He liked you and your backstory enough he gave you your own show. There you discuss your experiences as a closeted thug living in the ghetto, answer fan questions, discuss issues pertaining to the quote unquote ‘gay community’ from time to time. Sometimes you play cute songs. I know you, Mickey Milkovich. Or rather, I know your show. I just want to make it better. That’s my job now.”

Mickey didn’t answer. Not that Ian expected him to. One look at the brunet and he could tell he was overwhelmed by all the changes happening simultaneously in his life. Ian decided to leave well enough alone before he got punched out.

* * *

 

“And you’re gonna call me every week?” Mickey asked as Mandy checked in at the airport kiosk.

“Yes, Dad,” she joked. “I also brushed my teeth this morning. Wanna check?”

“Yeah, like I don’t where that mouth has been.”

Mandy punched him hard in the arm for that. Derek had flown out a few days ahead to get situated at his new job. That left one more day of bonding for the Milkovich siblings who basically spent the day walking around the Southside, getting trashed while reminiscing about all the shit they had had to deal with. They had ended the night in their childhood home, where a few of the brothers still lived, passed out on the couch with a shitty action movie playing in the background. It was probably the quietest night they ever had. They seemed to be making up for that with all the commotion they were making in the airport.

“You’re one to talk,” Mandy pointed out. “You probably smoked more poles than one of dad’s Russians.”

“And you were probably their madam,” Mickey countered, walking Mandy to the security check in.

“Say whatever you want, asshole. Just don’t call me at the middle of the night when you’re drunk and high with nobody to love you.”

“That’s your specialty not mine. I’ll just call my buddy, Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Daniels.”

That made Mandy smile. It only lasted a moment before she turned to him, totally serious. “You gonna be good, Mick?”

“Yeah…” he shrugged. “I mean, I got the show…”

“Enough with the stupid show. That’s three nights a week. Join a knitting circle or some shit. You’re such a sad fuck.”

Mickey couldn’t even deny it. He only ruffled Mandy’s hair as he reached the point where he could no longer follow her. She turned to him, a light in her eyes that always startled him a bit when he saw it. He hadn’t seen her look like that until about a year after Terry kicked it from being shanked in lockup. That’s when she back to school for her diploma. Not some half-assed GED like Mickey got – but an actual diploma complete with the itchy the polyester gown at graduation. It was the proudest day of Mickey’s life.

He watched her heal herself from that poor little girl that he knew all of her life. He watched her become a paralegal. He watched her move into her own place. He watched her fall in love for maybe the first time. Now, he was watching her leave.

“I’ll call you when I land,” Mandy promised, wrapping her arms around Mickey. “But honestly, I hope you’re gonna too busy to even answer.”

“I’ll try,” Mickey told her, knowing he would probably be waiting around for it.  
“Love you.”

“Love you… too.”

But she was all ready walking out of his life. She only turned around to give him a quick wave. Then she was gone.

* * *

 

Mickey tried to shake off the blues but he was still down in the dumps when he walked into work that evening. It was half an hour before his show was scheduled to air and he still had some pre-interview questions to go over. He was surprised when he stepped over threshold and found Ian Gallagher there. The tall fucker was leaning over his desk, scanning it for something.

“Can I help you?” Mickey asked, a bit too loudly.

“I was hoping to see your guest list for the next few weeks,” Ian replied.

“It’s on the website,” Mickey muttered.

He took a seat behind the desk and rummaged through the mess until he picked out a hard copy of his show’s plan for the next month. He handed it to Gallagher without looking at him. Aside from Mandy leaving, the only thing he had thought about since the going away party was Gallagher. He could usually size up someone in an instant. But this fuckhead, he couldn’t get a read on. He couldn’t tell if he was nice or a jerk, workaholic or a slacker, gay or straight or somewhere in between or not interested in sex at all. Not that he was interested in sex with Gallagher. Because he wasn’t. Really.

“Thanks for this,” Ian said. But he wasn’t making any move to leave.

“You need something else?” Mickey asked.

“Mandy left today, right?”

“So?”

“It sucked when I left my family to go to school in New York. It’s a can’t-live-with-them-can't-live-without-them type situation.”

“I’ll survive.”

Mickey opened his laptop, hoping that would send Ian away. Instead, Ian sat down in the chair opposite Mickey.

“I got work to do,” Mickey muttered.

“I was thinking about getting you an intern,” Ian said as if Mickey hadn’t spoke at all. “They could do all this grunt work.”

“You get on that then.”

“Also, I was thinking about sitting in on air with you. Tonight, if that’s okay.”

“No skin off my back, man.”

* * *

 

At exactly nine minutes into the show, Mickey regretted agreeing to Ian’s request. He sat opposite Mickey on the control board, looking strangely endearing in his giant pair of headphones. He shifted back and forth in his seat as Mickey took the first call.

“How can I help you tonight on Out Late?” Mickey asked, just like he’d done a million times before.

“First off, can I just say I love your show?” a female caller gushed. “And I know my question’s pretty tame to some of the ones you get on here but I really need guidance.”

“Anything to help out a listener.”

“Well, I recently decided to get my master’s from a school in Indiana. The only problem is my girlfriend of nine years. I’d be leaving her behind for three years and she’s willing to stand by me on one condition. She wants to be able to see other people while I’m away.”

“She wants to open your relationship?”

“That’s just the thing. She only wants things open on her end. She thinks since I’m the one going to school I shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Would you be okay with that arrangement?”

“No but…” the caller hesitated. “I’m gonna be gone for three years. Don’t I at least owe her this?”

“First rule of loving yourself- you don’t owe anyone a thing. Not your parents, not your boss, and certainly not some chick who wants to punish you for going away by rubbing it in your face the fact that she’s sleeping around.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s gaze burning into him. Instead of giving the redhead the satisfaction of looking at him, he listened intently to his caller.

“You think she’s punishing me?” the caller asked, slightly alarmed.

“No,” Ian interjected.

Only then did Mickey turn to look sharply at his boss. He looked utterly indignant at Mickey’s assessment of the situation and had moved forward to talk into the spare microphone.

“Caller, that is my new producer, Ian,” Mickey introduced hurriedly. “He was supposed to be sitting in on tonight’s show silently but he apparently has strong opinions on the subject.”

“I think your girlfriend recognizes her own weaknesses,” Ian said. “She knows that she won’t be able to make it through the next three years without someone to touch, someone to hold.”

“She’s going to grad school in Indiana, not heading off to prison. It’s a three hour drive.”

“Why should she have to make it?”

“Because relationships are about effort. The best thing she could do is put in the work for the next three years, then lock down our caller when she finishes school.”

The engineer raised his hand, signaling that Mickey wrap it up and quick.

“The best thing you could do is tell your girlfriend how you feel,” Mickey concluded. “Anyone not making time for you, is not worth your time. Remember that.”

The show moved into a commercial break, and Mickey took off his headphones.

“I do mind,” Mickey told him.

“What?” Ian asked, baffled.

“You being here. You can listen from your office, but you, here, intruding on my show, is not going to work.”

Ian Gallagher was distracting enough. With his stupid read hair and stupid smirk and stupid faded freckles. And he wasn’t Mickey’s type at all. He usually preferred rough guys, the ones who had been around the block once or twice. The ones who had no problem tossing Mickey around when he asked. Not soft little fuckers like Ian Gallagher. He was sure the only reason he even let Ian Gallagher get under his skin was because of how much he missed Mandy and Derek. Otherwise he wouldn’t have given the fucker a second thought.

“I have paperwork to catch up on anyway,” Ian said, pushing his chair and walking out of the office.

* * *

 

The moment Ian figured Mickey needed a life was when he found the brunet smoking a cigarette on the steps of the building. His show had wrapped an hour and a half ago yet he was still hanging around. Ian walked past him silently, surprised when Mickey stopped him by saying,

“Hey.”

 

Ian turned around, waiting for Mickey to continue.

“Look, man,” Mickey said after a brief moment, “I’m sorry for being such a dick. It’s just too much – all the changes and stuff and I really shouldn’t be taking it out on you but you’re the closet punching bag and I’m doing a fucking shitty job of explaining myself. But look, the show is my thing. It’s one thing that can’t change.”

“Have you ever thought maybe change could be a good thing?” Ian asked him.

“In what fucking world?”

“In the world where you have a life outside of Mandy and this job. Maybe a hobby or a boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

“Just saying.”

Mickey didn’t respond. He only rubbed the cigarette out on the stairs before tossing it into a nearby receptacle. Without looking at Ian, he proposed, “Wanna grab something to eat?”

And that’s when Ian decided he liked Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr](http://harsleywrites.tumblr.com/)


	2. Friends Without Benefits

Ian and Mickey were almost friends. Almost because whenever they were hanging out, the conversation would lull and an awkward silence would descend. Then the sexual tension would settle, becoming unbearable and threatening to suffocate them both until one of them stood abruptly and made some excuse about where they needed to be. So friends… who were kind of desperate to jump each other’s bones.

“Milkobitch!”

Mickey turned around and saw Dale Pyzeski, former NHL goalie and eternal frat boy, making his way over from the other side of the cafeteria. He was the latest of Ian’s changes implemented over the last month, an addition to a sports show on Mickey’s channel. For some reason, the guy was always approaching Mickey, wanting to know about the ins and outs of gay sex. Mickey always tried to brush him off but in the dude’s mind they were buddies or some shit.

“It’s Milkovich,” Mickey muttered pouring his soup into a little bowl.

“That’s what I said,” Dale hit Mickey a bit too forcefully on his back. “I heard that segment you did on male lingerie – very insightful.”

“Fuck off.”

“Anyway, the wife wants to throw a big party for St. Patrick's Day. Thought I’d invite a few guys from the station.”

“Just guys? Sounds like some kind of queerbo orgy. Or just plain sexist.”

“I was using guys in the general sense. All genders and sexual orientations alike are invited. But you should really come on up, Mickey Mouse. We have this huge place in Lake Forest with an indoor pool, Jacuzzi, a giant den.”

That did sound like a better setup than Mickey’s broom closet a few miles from the station. And maybe this was just what he need to get some sort of semblance of a life. Even if it was at Douchey Dale’s place.

“Just email me the details and I’ll think about it, man,” Mickey acquiesced.

“Awesome,” Dale replied before he grimaced. “Here comes boss man. Gotta go.”

Before Mickey could get out a response, Dale was gone, and Ian had appeared in his place. The first thing Mickey noticed was how he smelled like coffee and spice. Mickey had to plant his feet to keep from nuzzling Ian’s neck and inhaling. Then he noticed how tight Ian’s gray button down shirt was. The buttons were struggling to break free and Mickey was struggling not to help them out. Jesus, he needed a catch a grip before he went completely off the deep end over this guy.

“Dale invite you to his pool party thing?” Ian asked, getting his own soup.

“Yeah, I mean,” Mickey shrugged, “what do I have better to do?”

Ian walked over to sit down at a table and Mickey followed with even questioning it. Probably because he was too busy staring at Ian’s ass. He took a spoonful of his soup and found it was already cold. Awesome.

“So I was thinking we could look into getting you… a co-host,” Ian said meekly.

“A co-host? The fuck man,” Mickey rolled his eyes. This is how Ian acted whenever he wanted to make some big change to Mickey’s show. Try to act all shy and timid before flexing his muscle. “I told you it’s my show.”

“My channel but, hey, it would be great to have a female perspective. I know a few people, already with large followings, who love your show and would love to come in and be a part of this.”

“Tell them to get their own fucking show.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to test a few people out.”

Would it? One thing Mickey learned from living with Terry was when to push something and when to let it drop. Pushing something not worth the trouble could usually get his ass beat. With Gallagher, his job and his contract were in jeopardy. He already balked on so many of Gallagher’s other proposals he knew he was going to have to give into this one or else it would come back to bite him in the ass.

“All right,” Mickey held up his hands in surrender. “We screen a few people but I can’t promise you I’m gonna like any of them.”

“You don’t like anyone, Mick,” Ian told him with his trademark smirk.

That wasn’t true. Not at all. Not even a little bit. He liked his brothers well enough and Mandy of course. Derek was still a close friend of his. He knew he could depend on his friends at the station. And, you know what, he even liked Ian Gallagher. He liked how ambitious he was, that he didn’t accept mediocrity, and how he managed to coax a smile out of Mickey even in the midst of his shittiest moods. Mickey would never admit that to him – not in a million fucking years. Instead of confessing all those gross and mushy feelings, he threw a napkin at Ian and tried not watch him too closely for the rest of their meal.

* * *

 

Ian was beyond exhausted. It was a Saturday night and here he was in his office, takeout boxes littered on his coffee table, and a grumpy old man masquerading as a sexy brunet laying on his couch. Ian shouldn’t even really be this attracted by a guy when his hair was all messed up and his stupid blue plaid shirt was wrinkled and he had soy sauce on the side of his mouth. Sauce that Ian dying to lick—

“I think we should bring in that Karina chick,” Mickey said, effectively knocking Ian out of his stupor.

“The prostitute?” Ian asked sleepily.

“Former sex worker. Her podcast is hella funny.”

“And you don’t think people are gonna care she used to swash johnsons for money?”

“I still do it for free.”

Ian cleared his throat a bit too loudly. He was trying to ignore the image of Mickey on his knees kneeling in front of him, undoing –

“Gallagher!” Mickey was calling his name. “Earth to Gallagher.”

“Think we should call it a night,” Ian said, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I’ll email Karina tomorrow morning.”

“But you’re making it clear she doesn’t work here, right?”

“You’re assuming she’d want to.”

“Who wouldn’t want to work with me? I’m a ball of motherfucking sunshine.”

Ian couldn’t help but to roll his eyes as he cleaned all the trash off his desk. It would be a sin to expect the cleaning crew to do it. Mickey stood up from his place on the couch and began to stretch his limbs, all the while watching Ian.

“You going to catch the L?” Mickey asked.

“Like any cab is going to take me to Canaryville,” Ian replied. “I really need to find my own place.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“All my money’s tied up right now while I get my student loan situation straightened out. Plus, Fiona needs all the help she can get right now but that couch is fucking killer on my back.”

“You could ditch that dump and crash at my place if you want.”

The offer is out of Mickey’s mouth before his brain can even think to filter it out. To anyone else it would have just been like one friend offering to help out another. And it was. Mickey couldn’t even count the number of times Derek had crashed at his place. Then again, he hadn’t been attracted to Derek. He hadn’t felt himself of aware of his every move like he did with Ian. He didn’t feel like crawling out of his skin all the time as he had with Ian. And when he invited Derek to crash at his place, he certainly wasn’t picturing the two of them in bed together. Like he was with Ian.

He hoped, prayed, that Ian would decline his offer. Instead, Gallagher shrugged and said, “Okay.”

* * *

 

Mickey’s place was nothing to write home about. Just a studio with brick walls and hardwood floors. It was the only thing he could find within walking distance of the station and in his price range. Sometimes he felt like it was too much for a thug from the Southside. Other times it felt as if putting his personal life on display for the sake of the show was worth it.

Ian seemed to like it enough. He wasted no time dumping his bag on the couch and taking off shoes. He was reaching for the remote when he asked Mickey without even bothering to look at him, “Do you have any beer?”

“Any preferences?” Mickey asked mockingly as he fished through his fridge.

“Anything is fine.”

Mickey fished one out for Ian and handed it to him. He then walked to his linen closet (or at least that’s what Mandy dubbed it) and fished out a blanket and a spare pillow for Ian. He threw it unceremoniously at the ginger before going into his bathroom to take a shower. Why did he feel like this was going to be a long night?

Eventually, Ian’s pants and button down shirt went the way of his shoes, leaving him in only his undershirt and briefs. He sat on the blanket with the pillow propped behind in his head as he watched some trash reality show waiting for Mickey to get out of the shower. Why, he didn’t know? It’s not like he would ever make a move on someone who worked for him.

Ian heard the door close and he tried not to look obvious as he watched Mickey walk out of the restroom wearing only a towel. His dark damp hair moved as he rifled through his drawers. When he finally pulled out what he was looking for, he dropped the towel giving Ian a great view of his ass. And what a great ass it was. It was soon gone as he pulled a pair of boxers on.

Ian buried his face in his pillow, the image seared into his mind.

“You really think she’s going to be a good fit?” Mickey’s voice floated over to Ian. Straight to his dick of course because Ian couldn’t stop thinking about fucking the guy he supervised.

Ian didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice right now.

“You asleep already?” Mickey asked.

That was the only way to come out of this alive, Ian quickly deduced. To pretend he was asleep. He closed his eyes as his ears picked up Mickey’s movement around the apartment. First he leaned over Ian checking to make sure he was really asleep before tugging the blanket from under him and wrapping it around him. Mickey fucking Milkovich was actually tucking him in. He made sure Ian was covered, moving his hands across Ian’s body through the blanket. Just his arms and down his sides and the tops of his legs before pulling his hands away abruptly. Ian hated that he ached for the contact.

Mickey flipped off the television before climbing into his own bed. All the lights flipped off after a moment but it was a long time before of them got any sleep.

* * *

 

Mickey awoke to the sound of a sizzling. He figured it must have been coming from the TV or something and tried to close his eyes and fall back to sleep. Then he heard a crash followed by muttering and deduced that it was probably Ian Gallagher in his kitchen, fucking shit up.

That got Mickey out of bed. He walked to his kitchen and found Gallagher scooping eggs onto a plate. Next to it was a baking tray with pieces of bread covered in cheese slices over it. Ian himself was holding a bottle of ketchup.

“This your idea of good breakfast?” Mickey asked.

“It’s the breakfast of champions,” Ian assured him.

“You can take the kid out of the Southside, I guess.”

“You’re one to talk. Still have those FUCK U-UP tattoos on your knuckles.”

“It’s a reminder so pricks like you don’t step out of line.”

“I have one.”

“One what?”

“A tattoo.”

“No shit?”

Ian lifted his shirt and displayed a tattoo on his side that looked suspiciously like an eagle holding an assault rifle. Mickey raised an eyebrow as he took in all of Ian’s exposed chest before the redhead pulled down his undershirt again. Mickey pulled his eyes away and looked for a second before chancing a glance at Ian. He was watching Mickey curiously as he squeezed the bottle. Any remotely amorous feelings Mickey had evaporated when Ian smothered his eggs in ketchup.

“Really?” Mickey’s face wrinkled in disgust.

“It’s good,” Ian insisted.

“You’re gross, man.”

“Try it.”

“No!”

But Ian was already trying to spoon eggs into Mickey’s mouth. First he just moved his head away but Ian was an insistent fucker. When he actually succeeded in brushing the fork against Mickey mouth, the brunet knocked the fork away to the ground. Then a breath later they were kissing.

Neither knew how it happened but suddenly their mouths were moving together in the sweetest surrender either of them could imagine. Ian pinned him to the counter with hips while he plundered Mickey’s mouth, exploring its deeps with his tongue while he ground against him. The felt great against each other, even through the confines of their underwear. Ian roughly palmed Mickey’s naked chest, feeling his smooth skin under his hands. He brushed over Mickey’s nipples before a hand made his way into his way down Mickey’s torso and into his boxers. Ian’s hand tentatively wrapped around Mickey’s erection when a sharp ringing broke the spell and they sprang apart.

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered as he ran over to the nightstand where he left his phone.

Ian was left standing in the room, dick hard as a rock as he listened to Mickey’s phone conversation.

“Hey, Mandy,” he tried to clear its throat of its huskiness. “No, I was just making breakfast. Um, just eggs and toast. Nothing special.”

As Mickey sat down on his bed, it became apparent to Ian they weren’t going to pick up where they left off. He sighed, wiping a hand over his face, before beginning to clean up the mess he made trying to cook breakfast.

“Make any friends yet?” Mandy asked, obviously not picking up on the fact that Mickey wasn’t even remotely invested in their conversation.

“Somebody down at the station invited me to a party,” Mickey offered, keeping an eye on Ian looking completely at home in his apartment. “So there’s that.”

After about ten minutes of strained conversation, Mandy finally relented and hung up, making Mickey of course promise to get some semblance of a life. After taking a moment to compose himself, Mickey forced himself to walk back over to the kitchen, his mistake weighing heavily on him.

“That was Mandy?” Ian asked, still washing away.

“Yeah,” Mickey told him. “She loves it down there.”

Ian only nodded as he rinsed and dried the dish. He put it back in his place before looking up at Mickey.

“I’m gonna get out of your hair,” Ian told him. “Fiona probably needs a babysitter or something.”

“Okay,” Mickey agreed readily.

“I’ll see you Monday at the office?”

“Yep, yeah, definitely.”

Mickey watched as Ian quickly got dressed and left the apartment leaving Mickey unsure as to how things had even happened in the first place. One minute they were about to eat breakfast, they next they were playing tonsil hockey and Ian’s hand was down Mickey’s pants. He was getting hard again just thinking about it. How the fuck was he going to face Gallagher at work?


	3. Two Can Be as Bad as One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for the update. Hope it's worth it.

The plan was never to stay in Chicago for that long. The job at the radio station and moving back in with Fiona was all temporary while he figured out his next move. Fiona had admitted she was flailing financially, unable to keep up with the property taxes and increased rent on the house in addition to saving for Debbie’s college fund while still setting aside bail money for Carl. All the money Lip was making from his fancy engineering degree was going toward getting another fancy engineering degree, this time at Northwestern University. About the same time Fiona implored him to move back in, the radio station Ian had been working in folded and he found himself out of a job. For all of three seconds before Derek called him about the opening at XKN. Ian rarely believed in signs but he couldn’t deny the timing of this was perfect.

Of course the universe with the perfect timing obviously hadn’t factored in Mickey Milkovich. Five foot eight inches of Southside bad-assery with an even worse mouth that his listeners just loved. Ian among them. It was his job to listen to all of the shows on his station, but he found himself listening to Out Late when he was driving in his car, while in the shower, on his morning jogs. He surrounded himself with Mickey Milkovich as much as possible during his waking hours and because of what happened Saturday morning, he was even dreaming of him. Hot dreams, sexy dreams that had Ian taking cold showers at odd hours of the night and stealing Carl’s Costco sized jar of Vaseline. The ironic thing about surrounding himself with Mickey in his down time was that he went out of his way to avoid him at work.

He was about ninety-nine percent sure the brunet was avoiding him as well which made things exponentially simpler. It was a Thursday, five days from the last time Ian had spoken to Mickey outside of an overly formal email about advertisers, and Ian was unwrapping a sandwich (he had started bringing his lunch to work so as not to run into Mickey in the cafeteria) at his desk when someone knocked on his office door.

“Mr. Gallagher,” Sara, the new intern Ian had hired, popped into his office, “someone’s here to see you.”

“Someone?” Ian mused. “That narrows it to about 7 billion people.”

“Karina Vasquez.”

Ian knitted his brow in confusion. “She’s not coming to meet with us until next week. She’s at some Sexpo in Salt Lake City.”

“No, sir, she’s outside of your office.”

“Okay, well send her in.”

“What about Mr. Milkovich?”

Ian almost choked on his tuna salad, extra mayo, and struggled to wash it down with a large sip of water before he managed to struggle out the words to his intern. “Why would we… what about Milkovich?”

“She would potentially be his co-host, correct?” Sara explained rationally. “I figured he would want to meet her.”

“Is he, uh, even in the building? He’s only here like three days a week.”

“He’s here breaking down his show for tomorrow and picking up some Sox tickets from one of the sports shows guys.”

“You’re sure keeping a close eye on him.”

“It’s my job, Mr. Gallagher. Do you want me to call him?”

“Let me see what she wants first.”

Sara left Ian to down his sandwich. He had barely brushed the crumbs from his mouth when he heard what sounded suspiciously like a curse word but in a different language. Spanish, he assumed. He turned and saw a woman inappropriately dressed for a job interview. She was wearing torn jeans, a fedora, and a black top that barely covered her stomach. Oh, and the highest heels he had probably ever seen. None of this matched with the pictures he had saw of her on her website, mostly in leather and bright red lipstick.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked after a moment of him just staring blankly at her.

“Come in, Miss Vasquez, please,” Ian said, waving her in. “Sorry. You just look… different.”

“I molted my scales for the year.”

Ian chucked lowly as she sat down.

“Come on, you don’t think I wear that leather suit in public,” she explained. “Not to mention the makeup and clip in extensions. The lack of dress code is enough for me to make the jump to radio.”

“You could at least play hard to get.”

“Oh, I’m impossible to get. At the Sexpo that I was going to, I would have been paid ten grand for eight hours of my time. Take pictures with fans, signing my name onto dildos – I would have been paid ten grand. Now, I’m obviously I’m not expecting that kind of money here but it would have to be worth it.”

“Well, I’m a producer. Not really in charge in the contracts but I can put in a good word—”

“Ay!”

Erratic heart rate, suddenly clammy hands, the feeling of impending vomit. Those were the physical symptoms of being in the vicinity of Mickey Goddamn Milkovich. Ian could see him standing in the doorway via his peripheral. Milkovich was not to be looked at directly. For him, at least. Karina couldn’t seem to pry her eyes away.

“You’re hotter in person,” Karina commented of the brunet. “The blue eyes are really something. Are you sure you’re gay?”

“Terminally,” he snorted. “Karina? You look different without the leather get up.”

“So your boss told me.”

Ian could feel Mickey’s eyes on him now. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead at the woman in front of him. He didn’t know how long he could be in such close proximity around the brunet and searched his desk for any reason to get him of the office.

“I have a mountain of paperwork,” Ian said abruptly, “and a meeting with the station manager today. You two should get to know each other though. Get lunch or something.”

“It’s nine in the morning,” Karina informed him.

“Get breakfast then.”

* * *

 

And that’s how Mickey found himself sitting across from a former sex worker at the diner he and Ian went to after that first disastrous show together. It was a seedy diner called Patsy’s Pie and everybody who worked there from the tatted up manager to the waitresses looked like they were using. Not that Mickey could judge much considering a few short years ago he probably he would have been selling to them. Especially when their coffee was strong and their waffles were to die for.

“Thought I asked for whip cream on this,” Mickey grumbled as he poked at the Cool Whip on his breakfast.

“You like ‘em sweet, huh,” Karina remarked as she poured milk onto her raisin bran cereal.

“Excuse me?”

“Your waffles.”

Mickey only grunted in response. It seemed his potential co-host had a permanent half smirk on her face that didn’t ever seem to falter whether she was wearing a leather corset or in jeans and a t-shirt like now.

“How long have you been working with that Ian guy?” she asked.

“Little over a month,” Mickey answered. “Before that there was this over guy, Derek, was my supervising producer. He packed up to run his own station in Florida.”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s alright. Too much a fucking busy body for his own good and he can’t take no for answer. He’s just gonna keep going after whatever it is he wants.”

“Is that how he got you?”

As it turns out, coffee being snorted through your nose is not the most pleasant experience. Mickey quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe at the mess on his face, clocking Karina’s smug expression as she eats her soggy cereal. He takes long drink of his water before finally managing, “The fuck are you talking about?”

“In all my years turning tricks, I never had a ‘bad experience’,” Karina revealed. “I always made sure to vet the dudes beforehand, getting all the public information I can before I set up an appointment. If I found out he lied to me, he’s instantly blacklisted and I warn all my other working girl friends. This isn’t any different.”

“Not one of your johns, Karina.”

“Yeah, I’m lacking the specific equipment you’re looking for, Milkovich. My point is, I just don’t want to be caught off guard by something like my co-host sleeping with his boss. That could put my job in jeopardy.”

“Who even says you have a fucking job here?”

“Who said I would want one? I don’t want to work with liars.”

“Who’s lying to you?”

“Be honest with me then: are you sleeping with Ian? Because his whole demeanor changed when you walked into the room. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him while he couldn’t stand to look at you. It was almost poetic.”

“Nothing happened. And it wouldn’t be any of your business if you did.”

“Okay. Fine. Until you can be honest with me, I hope you like doing your show alone.” Karina shrugged matter of factly and lifted the bowl to her face to drink the leftover milk.

He knew without even talking to Ian that he was expecting him to this deal. The redhead wasn’t exactly charismatic but there was an earnest appeal to him coupled with that 100 watt smile that made people love him. Like, Mickey mentally corrected. In his short time at the station he made friends with virtually everyone while Mickey had been there for years, and could barely get anyone besides Dale and his jocks to wave at him. Any charm that Mickey had was expected to be expended on Karina but he knew she would never go for it. For years she had guys spouting bullshit, trying to get shit out of her. To her this was no different than negotiating for the highest price and Mickey had no choice but to respect her hustle. He decided to go for the only thing he knew he could pull him well, what had made his show so successful. Brutal honesty.

“This is the only thing I’m going to say about me and Gallagher,” Mickey relented, “and I don’t want it brought up again. All right?”

“I’m listening,” she replied.

“It’s like this; he’s the south side of a magnet and I’m polar north and anytime we’re around each other, it’s magnetic. We just know it can’t happen.”

“That’s… almost romantic. And if it’s not complete bullshit, I think you should go for it.”

“Radio’s a small word. If word got out I was sleeping with my producer, station manager might get pissed and terminate my contract.”

“We’re all adults.”

“You never met him. Dude’s super old school conservative.”

“What about Ian?”

“What about him?” he asked belligerently. “Fucker’s not gonna want to lose his job, is he?”

Karina shrugged as she waved her spoon in the air. “Maybe that’s what we should talk about on tonight’s show: how to get over your boss.”

Against his will, Mickey found the beginning of a smile form. “You gonna do the show then?”

“One show. I have to see if I like you.”

Then she did something completely unexpected. She smiled. And not one of those fake smiles she put on for the sake of being amenable and getting what she wanted. This one actually reached her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ian tried, and failed of course, not to be beaten up with jealousy over Mickey’s new friendship with Karina. He had all but encouraged it and now it was flourishing. Whenever he saw her trademark fedora and low hanging jeans, Mickey usually followed behind looking happier than Ian had ever seen him. He knew he should be happy that Mickey was getting out of his funk over Mandy leaving. And he was. Really. But it couldn’t be healthy to spend your time with one, really attractive person renowned for their sex skills, could it?

Ian was pondering this as he waited in the station cafeteria line. He had just picked out a Panini when he heard a familiar life behind him. He turned and saw Karina chatting up one of the women who hosted the healthy lifestyle show. He quickly ducked his head, hoping to not make eye contact with her. It was hard to hate someone when they were so nice to you.

Ian took his tray to an empty table and tried to put out the vibe he wanted to sit alone. His usual act of crushing peanut shells with one hand seemingly failed when Karina sat down with him.

“I need to stay away from yoginis,” she announced as she sat down. “Gayle talked me into a kale salad and all I can think is how much I really wanted those bacon cheese fries. In San Antonio, where I’m from we have these breakfast tacos filled with chorizo and eggs and potatoes and cheese. I’m in Chicago one week, and I’m eating what my food eats. You okay with those peanuts man?”

“Yep,” Ian mumbled.

She took a sip of sparkling water. “Mickey’s a really good guy.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along.”

“He can’t stop about how much he likes you.”

“What?” Ian crushed a peanut in his palm painfully before shaking it. “Ouch.”

“He says you’ve been really great about stepping into Derek’s shoes, and you’ve in had some good ideas. Actually, I think the term he used was, ‘not that fucking bad’. You know Mick though. He’s not so generous with compliments.”

“What about me?”

Ian internally groaned as Mickey sat down across from him. His smile was directed at Karina which gave Ian time to check him out. He was wearing a sleeveless button down black shirt that showed off his biceps. Ian noticed they flexed a bit as he sat down his tray.

“Earth to Ian,” Karina was saying.

“Sorry?” Ian asked, hoping it wasn’t too obvious he was staring at Mickey.

“I said I was going back into line for some real food and wanted to know if you wanted anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mickey? You want anything?”

“No,” he replied. He watched almost helplessly as Karina left the table and them alone.

It was their first time being alone since the interlude in Mickey’s kitchen over a week ago. Besides some heated eye contact across the hall and awkward waving, the two had done their best to avoid each other. There was some unspoken agreement between them to give each other a little space.

“Can I have a peanut?” Without waiting for an answer, Mickey reached over a popped one into his mouth.

“Go ahead,” Ian replied.

“Man, I gotta tell you, you look fucking weird just crushing these things.”

“Glad to know you’re looking.”

Mickey reached for another one, maintaining eye contact with Ian. “Always, Firecrotch.”

“Guess what Karina said was true. You can’t stop thinking about me.”

“I’d have to start first.”

“Ouch.”

“Actually, I have been thinking what happened. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“What page is that?”

He didn’t know what page Mickey was on. He responded to the kiss for sure and his body definitely was into it but it could have just been morning wood. He definitely hadn’t tried to initiate anything sense or even talk to Ian, probably hoping the whole thing would probably blow over. Since Ian didn’t want to set himself up for a sexual harassment lawsuit, he tried to let the whole thing go. Tried being the operative word. He obviously failed.

“I don’t know, man. It takes two, right?” Mickey asked rhetorically. “It was both of us in my kitchen. We both wanted it or whatever, but if we start something and the station manager finds out we could both be out of a job.”

Ian had met with him earlier in the week. He was guy named Harvey Merrick who had started working radio when they were still broadcasting soap operas on them. He referred to Mickey’s show as the Queer Hour and had ranted aimlessly for a while before dismissing Ian. Rumor had it he was grooming his son to take over for him when he finally retired. But a reference from him would set Ian for wherever he wanted to go next, and he wouldn’t want to make things difficult for Mickey after he left.

“You’re right,” Ian relented. “I’m actually not planning to stay on for long. Just until I pay off the rest of my student loans and help my sister get on her feet again.”

“Yeah?” Mickey grunted.

“I’m giving myself until the end of the year.”

“That’s nine more months and then you’re off to… where?”

“Somewhere west maybe. I was thinking Portland, Seattle, or maybe even Austin.”

“Austin is great,” Karina told them as she sat back down her seat with a tray loaded with French fries and chicken tenders. “It’s the live music capital of the world. South by South West is my favorite thing ever. I saw Coldplay when they had this secret show at Emo. You know, before the whole thing got so commercial.”

Mickey nodded but Ian could tell he wasn’t listening. He was poking at his food, nodding and agreeing at the wrong moments. If he was upset that Ian wasn’t settling permanently in Chicago… he didn’t even want to think about that.

“I think I’m gonna take this Panini to go,” Ian announced. “I’ll be in my office.”

He quickly wrapped up his lunch in napkins before heading out. It was good that they cleared the air. Great actually. Maybe now Ian could see if there was a way to get over Mickey Milkovich.


	4. Trapped in the Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to courseweare for being an awesome beta. Enjoy.

_It always started out the same with Ian back on Mickey’s couch. Except instead of sleeping, Mickey was straddling him, sucking hickeys onto his neck and his chest. His hands were digging into Ian’s pecs, occasionally raking his nails over Ian’s nipples. The redhead couldn’t do much more than take it, his hands skimming over Mickey’s back over the swell of his ass. When the brunet was satisfied with his work on Ian’s upper body, his kisses moved lower until he was skimming Ian’s pelvic bone. He sucked a hickey there before lower his mouth onto Ian’s_ –

 

“Let’s get a move on, Private,” Lip yelled, effectively waking Ian up from his deep sleep. Ian craned his neck and saw Lip standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

 

Ian shifted to sit up on the old couch. “Are we doing something today?”

 

Lip was dressed semi-formally in a button down shirt and slacks. Ian knew it must have been important if Lip took off the morning from work. He couldn’t begin to understand the work his brother did with artificial intelligence and smartphones and he planned to keep it that way for the foreseeable future. All he knew was that his brother was making some serious bank that he was pouring back into a dual track program at Northwestern to get his master’s and Ph.D.

 

“We’re taking Debbie to visit colleges,” Lip reminded him, “U of Illinois at Chicago, Loyola, and my alma mater, U of Chicago. So get your ass up.”

 

“And we have to get up early because?” Ian asked, brain not firing on all synapses.

 

“We both can only get half a day off. I’ll make you some coffee.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Lip was halfway to the kitchen when he turned back to address. “You okay, man? You’re usually more of a morning person.”

 

“I was just… really enjoying my dream.”

 

* * *

 

 

Across town, Mickey was making the most of the free gym membership that came with his job at the station. It was the only thing that seemed to take the edge off these last few weeks. And he was on edge. His conversation in the cafeteria with Ian had left him drained at first. The thing about magnets is that they were always drawn to each other, no matter what was in their way. Since then, their eye contact always seemed to last for a beat more than appropriate, their conversations leaving both with this energy that neither could shake off for the rest of the day. Mostly, it just left Mickey horny. A guy could only jack off so much to the mental image of his producer before it became stale. Not even the incorporation of his precious Ben-Wa beads did much for him anymore. It seemed his only relief was beating the shit out of punching bag.

 

“Easy there, partner,” a familiar voice surprised Mickey so much he nearly decked the dude behind him. “Was just gonna ask if you needed a spotter.”

 

Mickey used his mouth to tear off one of his boxing gloves as he regarded Dale Pyzeski. The former NHL player was looking at him as if he was cracked and maybe he was. This thing with Gallagher was driving him up the wall.

 

“I’m about to do some reps,” Mickey told him, “If you want to make yourself useful.”

 

“Let’s go then, Milkobitch,” Dale clapped a hand on his back and lead him toward the bench press.

 

Mickey was halfway through his first set when Dale started talking again.

 

“Now that I have you trapped,” Dale joked, “I can tell you about this guy.”

 

“Stepping out on your wife?” Mickey huffed.

 

“Not fucking likely. Have you seen her SI cover? Anyway, my old coach’s son is gay. He just moved to Chicago and I was hoping you could show him around. Before you say no, you should know he’s attractive, according to my wife. I don’t check out dudes. He also has a steady job as an on-call physical therapist for the Bulls. Can get you pretty great seats at the games.”

 

Mickey lifted the weight easily, ready to laugh off Dale when he finished his set. Not some scared kid living under Terry’s roof anymore, he was actually picky about the guys he dated. Lately, he was only in the mood for tall gingers with stormy green eyes. Not whatever prick Pyzeski had lined up for him.

 

Then he remembered he couldn’t actually have what he was craving. Didn’t Mandy always say the quickest way to get over a guy was to get under a new one?

 

Mickey finished his final lift and placed the weight in its proper place. “All right.”

 

“You’ll go out with him?” Dale asked excitedly.

 

“Why you so happy about setting me up?”

 

“My wife, Sandy, wants all our friends paired up by New Year’s. I get a BJ for every successful pairing.”

 

Trying to shake that mental image from his head, Mickey asked, “This guy got a name or…?”

 

“Ritchie. He’s going to be at my party on Saturday.”

 

“Look forward to it.”

 

Mickey was surprised to find out he actually was. Anything that could distract him from his obsession with Gallagher had to be a good thing right?

 

* * *

 

Ian came into work that Wednesday afternoon still not firing on all cylinders. It had taken more coffee than he cared to admit to wake him up. Luckily, Debbie had been looking forward to gaining her independence so much she hadn’t noticed on her older brother’s sleepwalking through the tours. She was still on the fence about college, mostly due to the cost, but Ian had promised to help her find a way to pay for it. So far, Fiona’s kids 2-for-2 on the college streak, and they weren’t looking to break it anytime soon.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher,” Sara greeted him. “Mr. Merrick’s been waiting for you.”

 

“Harvey Merrick, the station manager?” Ian asked. “Where’d you send him?”

 

“Into your office. He insisted. He’s only been in there for like fifteen minutes.”

 

Sensing she was alarmed, he attempted to calm her. “You did fine. RSVP me for Dale’s party?”

“All ready done.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Ian took a deep breath, not sure what to expect from the notoriously mercurial man. He walked in and found the old guy playing with a rubber band ball Carl had made him, sitting on Ian’s desk.

 

“Mr. Merrick,” Ian greeted, stretching his hand out in greeting.

 

“Call me Harvey,” he insisted. “Sit down, please.”

 

Being told to sit behind his own desk was disconcerting to say the least. He did as he was told, though trying to read the situation. From the way Merrick was acting, more accommodating and pleasant than Ian had ever known him to be, he wanted probably wanted something. Ian quickly decided the best way to play it would be to just show he was open to whatever request Merrick was about to ask of him.

 

“How are you settling in?” Merrick asked after an awkward moment.

 

“I think I’m doing pretty well,” Ian replied. “I already got invited to a St. Paddy’s Day party.”

 

“Dale Pyzeski’s?”

 

“You know about that?”

 

“He invited me. I have a prior engagement unfortunately. Chicago’s NBC affiliate is having a dinner and I’m a guest of honor. Goes without saying my attendance is required, but I digress. Are you bringing a date?”

 

Noting the way Merrick was plucking at the ball in his hand, Ian replied, “Going stag. I haven’t had much time to get out there.”

 

“I may have a solution for you.”

 

Ian braced himself for the inevitable spiel about some great catch who just hadn’t found the right guy. A good looking single guy with a steady job was always a catch for people’s perpetually single girlfriends, sisters, and now daughters, it seemed. Ian wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, far from it, but having received his fair share of fag bashing and workplace discrimination over the last decade or so, he learned to not give everything away up front. He was all ready recalling his standard workplace coming out speech when his boss started speaking again.

 

“My eldest,” Merrick reached into his pocket for his phone. “Theo.”

 

Ian took the phone and found himself looking at an attractive… man, obviously biracial with light brown colored skin and Merrick’s gray eyes. Obviously taken at a college graduation, the man, Theo, had his arm around an older Black woman Ian surmised was his mother. Ian had never expected Merrick to be down with the swirl, but he couldn’t deny he produced a beautiful child to join the ranks of Tomorrow People.

“He just completed his master’s at Duke this fall,” Merrick continued. “Right now, he’s getting reacquainted with Chicago, and I was hoping a fine young man could show him around.”

 

“You’re setting me up with your son?” Ian asked, still shocked by what he was proposing. “How did you even find out I was gay?”

 

“From your New York reference, of course. Gary’s an old friend, and to be truthful Ian, you’re the only gay person I know besides that Milkovich character who does the Gay Hour. I’ve seen him. His tattoos are unsavory, not to mention his apparently lengthy juvenile record, and the fact he used to mop the floors him before Derek Pope threw him a bone. You on the other hand built yourself up from scratch. You have a college education and a promising career. It was really no contest.”

 

The indignant part of Ian was dying to throw in his face that he and Mickey were both from the gutters of Chicago. The only difference between them was that he had a Fiona. He could have easily been the custodian, or worse if hadn’t found a way to manage his bipolar disorder, and every morning when he took four different kinds of pills, he was reminded of that. Swallowing down the bile threatening its way up his throat, Ian managed,

 

“I didn’t know me and Mickey were competing.”

 

“You win, obviously. I thought you could invite him to that party. You two would be a really good fit in my opinion.”

 

Ian leaned forward, desperate for a way out of this, “Mr. Merrick, I don’t know. I feel this is crossing some professional line.”

 

“You’re not dating a co-worker. At least, not yet. It’s no secret I’m grooming Teddy to take over for me when I retire next year, but as of now he has no interest in working in radio, and who knows what will have happened between now and then.”

 

Ian opened his mouth to answer but Merrick rolled full steam ahead without waiting for a response. “I gave him your information. Expect a call or email in the next few days.”

 

“Mr. Merrick…”

 

“Don’t mention, Ian. Just my son a good time out, alright?”

 

Without waiting for a response, Merrick left Ian’s office with a smug little smile on his face. There was no way this wasn’t going to get messy. Complicated and Chicago seemed to go hand in hand. In the Southside, every action and impulse was based off survival and needing to connect in the most primal of ways. That’s how Kash and he had found each other; two desperate people needing to disconnect from their harsh reality. Kash was trapped in a loveless marriage with cultural and apparently religious standards to uphold. Ian was a scared shitless of being outed. It only seemed natural that their paths would collide.

 

Of course, with collision comes the collateral damage. Things only seemed to go downhill after Linda found out. Ian’s dreams of a military life were crushed with his type one bipolar disorder diagnosis. Junior year he floundered, falling a semester behind in school, going in and out of various psychiatric hospitals, trial and error with his new meds, and becoming dissatisfied with life in general. The answer seemed to come to him with startling clarity — get out of Chicago.

 

Wanting to get out of the Southside sparked his initial interest in the Army to begin with. In Ian’s mind, going away for school would have the same end result as enlisting. When it came to finding a college, he only considered out state colleges, some as close as Indiana, others as far away as Florida. In the end, he settled for Hunter College in New York City. He ended things with Kash the day he got his acceptance letter. He heard a rumor that he left town not long after Ian’s last day at the Kash and Grab.

 

He thought being an adult with a steady job would make coming back to Chicago easier. Instead, he was in debt, still living at Fiona’s, and caught up in an ever tangled web.

* * *

 

Dale sat across from Ian, smelling strangely of beer nuts and sweet smoke. There seemed to be no escaping him today. Between them is a microphone and the station’s giant computer and recording system. Ian’s mouse hovered above the record button.

 

“Ready?” Ian asked the jock.

 

“Go for it,” Dale gruffed and Ian signaled when he pressed the record button. “3, 2, 1. The buzzer rings, games over but we’re going into overtime. Listen to Overtime with me, Dale Pyzeski, to talk anything and everything sports!”

 

Ian signaled pressed the stop button and motioned for Dale to take off his headphones. “That was great.”

 

“You gonna add in the referee whistle, later?” Dale asked.

 

“I told you I would. I’m hoping to have the promo on air by next week. Merrick thinks we need to start promoting you more heavily, so you can have the largest possible audience after the Mayweather fight.”

 

Ian clicked over to the station’s website and clicked the livestream button. _Out Late_ would have came on ten minutes ago.

 

_“Dating for me is weird,” Karina was saying._

_“They Google you beforehand and find too many pictures of you with dicks in your ass?” Mickey asked._

 

_“Think you have me confused for yourself, darling.”_

 

Ian smiled idly as he handed the script for the next promo to Dale. He read it over, trying out different styles and emphasises.

 

_“What about you?” she was saying. “You seeing anyone, Milkovich?”_

_“I’m seeing you.” he dodged the question. “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights.”_

_“I think I’m missing some equipment that’s vitally important to what you’re looking for in a relationship.”_

“He’s being coy,” Dale said.

 

“What?” Ian turned his admittedly divided decision to the man across from him.

 

Dale flashed that sheepish, boyish smile of his that had made him the NHL poster boy for so many years. “Mickey. I set him up with someone.”

 

Ian felt himself blink. “You did?”

 

“Yeah, he was at the gym pounding on some poor boxing bag. Thought he should be pounding some dude instead.”

 

Ian made a noncommittal noise, not commenting how during their brief interlude he definitely got the vibe Mickey was the kind who liked to take it. Instead he pretended to edit Dale’s promo, keeping his ear trained on the conversation.

 

“ _But you have a date this weekend?” Karina prodded._

 

_“If you want to call it that.” Ian could hear the shrug in his voice._

_“Oh, so this is just a glorified booty call then? Jesus, Mickey, you could have just said. We all have needs we have to take care of once in a while. Needs that we may not be able to take care of ourselves.”_

_“Yeah, all right, this is all I’m going to say about it then we’re going to interview our in studio guest; there has been a drought in Desert Mickey and if all goes well this weekend, we’re going to experience some much needed rain.”_

It took Ian a long moment to recognize the feeling of heart turning to lead in his chest. Jealousy. Not since Kash and Linda were trying for baby number three had he felt this disheartened. He quickly closed the tab streaming the station.

 

“Gallagher,” Dale’s gruff voice snapped him out of his haze. “We gonna record the next one?”

 

“Um, yeah, Let me just save the last one.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ian found himself at the diner he and Mickey worked together that first night. If there was one regret he had about the kiss, it was that it had strained their fledgling friendship. Now, their conversations, unless work related, never exceeded more than a few minutes in passing in the hallway. Even then there was always a strange frisson fizzling between the two that showed no signs of abating anytime soon.

 

Ian was nursing a cup of decaf coffee while he waited for his order. Debbie had given him the head’s up that Fiona was reheating leftover spaghetti for dinner and warned him to look elsewhere for sustenance that night. He was fiddling with the handle on his mug when he saw movement out of his peripheral. Mickey had just entered, looking cool and casual as usual in a hoodie and loose fitting jeans. Ian hurriedly looked down, praying he could blend in with the pleather booth but it was futile. Mickey was already coming over.

 

“All the diners in the world, and you had to walk mine,” Mickey smirked as he sat down.

 

“Never would have pegged you as a classic movie kind of guy,” Ian snorted.

 

“When your dad throws the satellite box out of the window…”

 

Ian opened his mouth to respond when the waitress came over to take Mickey’s order. Ian couldn’t help but notice she hung on every word, the waitress smile plastered on her face reaching her eyes in a way that it hadn’t for Ian.

 

“All your waitresses look at you like that?” Ian asked, only half joking.

 

“That’s how you get fast service,” Mickey informed. “You don’t turn on those fucking puppy dog eyes to get what you want?”

 

“I don’t have puppy dog eyes.”

 

A genuine smile tugged at Mickey’s lips as he explained, “You’re shitting me, right? They’re like… big green saucers.”

 

“Is that a compliment?”

 

“You know what I mean, man. They’re nice.”

 

Mickey fucking Milkovich paying him a compliment. He must have been the Twilight Zone. Every time Ian even suspected the brunet was paying someone a compliment, it was in some ass backwards way. Ian felt his face grow warm at the sentiment. What was worse is that Mickey actually looked like he believed it. Fucking asshole.

 

“You going to Dale’s party?” Mickey asked him.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Ian replied, “Merrick’s kind of making me.of go.”

 

“Old fart’s not gonna be there, is he? I might need to seriously re-think my plans.”

 

“No, but he wants me to go with his son so…” Ian shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, while watching under his lashes for Mickey’s reaction. Ian didn’t know what he expected but the big belly laughter he received definitely wasn’t it.

 

Bracing his hands on the table, the older man was unable to hide his mirth about Ian’s predicament. Ian would have enjoyed the warmth in his blue eyes if it hadn’t been at his expense. He watched him calm down after nearly a minute before wiping the stray tears on his cheek and responding.

 

“He set you up with his kid? Really? Good luck with that.”

 

“Thanks,” Ian snorted, more than a little disappointed that Mickey could be so blase about his upcoming date. Weren’t they supposed to be like star crossed lovers or something?

 

“This can only end one two ways; you breaking his heart and being fired or becoming Mr. and Mr. Merrick picnicing with your little dogs in matching fucking sweaters,”Mickey taunted him.

 

“Fuck you. What meathead did Dale Pyzeski set you up with?”

 

The smile Mickey had been sporting fell from his face and he toyed with pepper shaker absently as he answered Ian. “Some physical therapist guy named Richie.”

 

Mickey was doing this antsy, not-looking-anyone-in-the-eye, speaking in fragments thing that meant he wanted to change the subject. Before he could elaborate further, the waitress arrived with their order. Hoping to change the subject, Mickey asked Ian about his family.

 

“Lip and I took Debbie to visit colleges this weekend,” Ian told him. “She applied to a bunch of them for the spring semester.”

 

“I thought she graduated last May?” Mickey asked.

 

“She did, but we needed time to get the cash together before we even think about paying tuition. She’s also applying to a bunch of scholarships but a million kids compete for those.”

 

“She’ll get ‘em. Even Mandy’s thinking about going to school to become a social worker.”

 

“Did you ever go to college?”

 

“Nah, man. I quit high school to work for the family business of moving meth, breaking knee caps for hire, and filing the serial numbers off of lifted guns. I was under my old man’s thumb til I was twenty-one.”

 

“What changed?”

 

“Terry walked on me giving the dude a blowjob when I was supposed to be moving some crank for him and… shit got crazy. I ended up in the hospital for a while. My brothers came to tell me in no uncertain terms that Terry wanted me out of the house by the time he made bail.”

 

“The only job I could get was in the building the station’s in, mopping floors and cleaning toilets. This old queen used to work there, Casey Davenport. He hosted this show that was on at 3 AM about his experiences coming out as gay to his wife and kids when he was 59. Guess what the show was called?”

 

“Out Late,” Ian answered, a small smile on his face.

 

“So he sees this angry, self-hating kid with the words FUCK U-UP literally written on his knuckles and he decides to take him under his wing. He invited me to stay on his couch, and I thought I was gonna have to blow him but he literally just wanted to give me a place to say. He helped me get my GED, had Derek teach me how to engineer shows and use all the equipment. He even brought me on-air. Turned out his fans really liked me. When he died from heart attack while fucking this cabana boy on a cruise, Derek gave me his show. Said he would have wanted me to have it.”

 

Ian could see the wistfulness in Mickey’s eyes, the pain lurking behind those blue eyes that had come to haunt his dreams. Ian never had a father figure in his life that he cared for - Frank didn’t come close to counting - and he couldn’t imagine losing one, especially one who gave him so much. Only a few short years later, his sister and best friend packed up and left for the other side of the country. Before he knew what he was doing, Ian was reaching across the table to place his hand over Mickey’s. He never noticed how much larger his was compared to the brunet’s.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ian said softly. “My mom died while I was at college. I hadn’t seen her in… years. They only thing she ever gave me was her bipolar disorder and a penchant for fucking people of the same gender. Frank, my dad, couldn’t even be bothered to give her a proper burial; just let her have some shitty state funeral.”

 

He expected Mickey to pull away his hand, shrug it off like he did with nearly everything else. Instead he turned over their hands, so he could trace the lines on Ian’s hand.

 

“Terry wouldn’t even let me or Mandy go to my mom’s funeral. We stayed with our aunt for a week while he got plastered.”

 

“I still can’t believe you grew up south side. How did I not know you?”

 

Suppressing a slight shiver, Mickey answered huskily, “Guess you weren’t looking in the right place.”

 

“Guess not.”

 

Ian bit his lip as he removed his hand. There was always this weird energy that was a combination of attraction, familiarity, and intimacy that neither man was accustomed to feeling with anyone, especially someone they’d known for such a short amount of time. He couldn’t afford to get attached to someone he worked with, someone who lived in the city he hated and couldn’t wait to flee.

 

“You know that waitress let my food get cold?” Ian told the man across from him, hoping to relieve some of the tension. “Maybe you should bat those eyelashes again.”

 

“I already take enough direction from you, fucker.”

 

Ian finished his food, making small talk with the host. He left Mickey chatting with the sultry waitress who had no idea she was barking up the wrong tree.

* * *

 

“Green shirt or blue shirt?” Mickey asked, holding up them both in front of his computer screen so Mandy could make the decision for him.

 

“The grey one I got you,” Mandy told him. “With the dark jeans and your leather jacket. Do you have like green socks or something since it’s a St. Paddy’s party?”

 

“If somebody tries to pinch me, I’m gonna break every knuckle in their fucking hand.”

 

“You can take the guy out of the south side, I guess. Excited about your date?”

 

“Excited to get laid.” Mickey was convinced now more than ever getting the shit pounded out of him was the perfect way to get over Ian.

 

Mickey shrugged on his grey button down shirt as his sister made gagging noises. He did pick up a green scarf to be safe.

 

“It’s nice to see you’re getting out,” Mandy told him.

 

Their Skype dates had become a semi-regular thing. Though Mandy would never admit, at times she got desperately lonely. According to her, Miami was too hot, too crowded, too… unfamiliar. She had yet to make any friends where she worked, and Derek had his hands full running the station. She was this close to joining a knitting circle. She had insisted on setting up a Skype date to help Mickey get ready for his big date after she heard his latest show.

 

“I’ve always gotten out,” Mickey rebutted. “I just don’t share everything happening in my life with you.”

 

“That’s because there isn’t anything to know.”

 

Mickey let out the most ungraceful snort as he thought of all the things he had been hiding from Mandy. Specifically, the huge torch he was carrying for his pseudo boss. That he was dying to feel those large hands move over his body, see those green eyes bore into him while they fucked face to face.

 

“Tell me about your date,” Mandy prodded as Mickey lifted the laptop and placed it in his lap.

 

“His name’s Ritchie Cantu. He’s a PT for the Bulls and… what are you doing?”

 

Mandy had looked away from the computer to type away at her phone. “I found your dude on Facebook. He’s like that hot werewolf from True Blood; tall, dark, handsome, and buff. Why are all the hot ones gay?”

 

“You’re getting married.”

Mandy ignored him and continued, “Look at Ian. He looks like he’d be great in bed.”

 

“That’s your husband’s best friend,” Mickey reminded her but at the same time feeling himself flush because he’d thought the same thing.

 

“You’re his best friend. Speaking of which, why haven’t you called him? He misses you.”

 

“He doesn’t have my number?”

 

“He’s busy.”

 

“And I’m not?”

 

“Whatever, fucker, I gotta go. I’m touring the University of Miami in an hour.”

 

Glad to hear she hadn’t even given up on going back to school, Mickey gave her a thumbs up. “Good luck.”

 

“You, too. Hope you get it in.”

 

With a final goodbye, he slapped his laptop shut as he heard a knock on his door. With a final splash of his aftershave he went over to open his door… and found the tallest man he had ever seen his life. Taller than Ian, even. Towering nearly an entire foot above Mickey with a mess of dark brown hair and hazel eyes, his white shirt seemed to be too tight across his buff chest, and his jeans were a snug fit. He looked down, and down, let’s be honest, at Mickey with a small smile on his face. There was a four leaf clover pinned to his shirt.

 

“You sound taller on the radio,” Ritchie told him before promptly shaking his head. “That was a stupid thing to say. How do you sound like a height? I’m Ritchie, obviously. That dumbass Dale set you up with.”

 

“Yeah, well, I make a living putting a foot into my mouth,” Mickey held out his hand and Ritchie promptly shook it. “Let me get my coat, alright?”

 

“Alright.”

 

As Mickey turned to get his coat, he was surprised at his hand already cold. After touching Ian’s hand, he had felt the warmth there for hours.

 

Before Dale’s party, Mickey had never had green Guinness. Now, he felt as if he was made of it. Dale’s wife, Janelle, passed him another glass of Guinness for Ritchie. Tall fucker had drunk at least much as Mickey but it seemed to be like water to him. Using his whole boyish charm trapped in a Men’s Fitness body thing, he had convinced Mickey to switch to water for the time being.

 

“I told Dale you would like him,” Janelle smiled at him warmly.

 

“He’s alright,” Mickey tried not control his tongue as to not slur his words. “Very… big.”

 

“Yep, I’ve heard good things.”

 

She winked at him before fluffing her natural black curls and walking away. It took a moment before he caught on but when he did, he had a smile on his face as he carried the drinks back to Ritchie. He was saving them a seat on the lounger next to the indoor pool, trying to convince Mickey to go swimming. Most of the party had already ended up in the pool in their underwear, but Mickey was trying to not look like a complete dumbass in front of his co-workers.

 

“I think this is what polyjuice potion looks like,” Ritchie joked as he took a sip of his drink. “Tastes like it, too,”

 

“You think they have any food to soak up this alcohol?” Mickey asked, laying back on the lounger.

 

“You didn’t ask Janelle while you were getting the drinks?”

 

“Fuck, I didn’t think about it.”

 

Mickey chuckled as he felt his body relax. A moment later he felt Ritchie’s hand rest warmly on his calf, moving up and down soothingly. “I could run and get you a burger or something.”

 

“Stay the fuck here, Cantu.”

 

Ritchie only shrugged and leaned back to lay next to Mickey. “Best blind date ever?”

 

Mickey made a noncommittal noise instead of answering. He was having fun but that’s all this was. That moment Ritchie started to get stars in his eyes, he would have to call the whole thing off. This date was supposed to be a distraction from..

 

“Ian!” Dale’s booming voice filled the room and all eyes turned toward Ian and the man he was with.

 

Mickey’s first thought was that Ian’s date looked like that from that doctor show that Mandy loved so much. The one who was always shirtless. His hand was clasped on Ian’s shoulder, and Mickey had to clench his fist to keep from getting up and decking the guy. Ian wasn’t looking at his date but scanning the room. For him. When their eyes eventually made contact, both looked away quickly. Mickey leaned back further in the lounge chair as if that would make him invisible.

 

“You know that guy?” Ritchie asked.

 

“He’s kinda my boss,” Mickey grumbled.

 

“That guy he’s with looks like Jackson from Grey’s Anatomy. He’s gay, too?”

 

“They say it’s genetic.”

 

“Well, he’s coming over here, right now.”

 

“Oh, fuck!”

 

Mickey barely had time to straighten his shirt when Ian was in front of him, date in tow.

 

“Mickey, hey,” Ian smiled easily.

 

“Ay,” Mickey grumbled. He managed the effort to give a short wave. A decidedly awkward silence descended on the quartet that Ian eventually decided to break.

 

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, nodding toward the large man sitting beside him with his hand still resting on his leg.

 

“This is Ritchie. He’s a PT for the Bulls. And this is Merrick’s spawn, right?”

 

“I prefer Theo,” Ian’s date snorted. Mickey hated him instantly.

 

“Didn’t know he was down with the swirl.”

 

“Let me guess, you’re the gay shock jock? Figures.” He scoffed before turning to Ian, “I’m going to go get a drink.”

 

“I’ll come with,” Ian said, following Theo out of the room.

 

Mickey watched them leave before finishing the rest of his water. He crumpled the plastic cup angrily before throwing it on the ground.

 

“Why did that seem suspiciously like a pissing contest?” Ritchie asked, the atmosphere growing more and more awkward.

 

Ritchie sat quietly until he realized his date wasn’t going to answer. He gave Mickey a comforting squeeze before standing up and peeling his shirt over his head. Mickey was in such a bad mood, he couldn’t even enjoy the view.

 

“I’m going to get in the pool,” Ritchie told him. “Don’t… don’t do anything stupid.”

 

Ritchie shucked his pants before jumping into the pool to a chorus of cheers. As much as Mickey tried to keep his eyes trained on Ritchie, his eyes kept glancing to the doorway he saw Ian and Theo walk through.

* * *

 

Ian found himself drinking water in Dale’s kitchen while Theo drank some expensive beer that Janelle found at the bottom of their cooler. The evening was only getting progressively worse and it wasn’t that great to start out with. Their evening had began when they met at a downtown restaurant for drinks. The place was overcrowded because of the holiday, and they could barely hear each other. That was followed by an hour long awkward car ride out to Lake Forest, then they had struggled to find a parking place in Dale’s circular driveway. Now the whole weird showdown by the pool had Ian feeling on edge.

 

“Did you fuck that guy?” Theo asked out of the blue. Their interactions had been uncomfortable at best, now it seemed downright hostile. “I won’t tell my dad, but if you took me here to make him jealous that’s pretty fucked up.”

 

“No, I’m his producer,” the words sounded hollow to his own ears. He figured he would be better off stating the obvious. “This date has been kind of a disaster.”

 

“I didn’t expect any less when Dad arranged it. Two guys who like dick, they must be a perfect fit.”

 

They laughed at that, Ian feeling at ease for the first time since their date began. He turned to look Theo directly in the eye. “Why’d you agree to this then?”

 

“He’s trying to be supportive of me being out. I know he can be a bit… dense, but he really does want the best for me. He also really likes the changes you’ve implemented so he’s probably hoping we can run the station after he retires as one big gay family.”

 

“So you want to work at the station then?”

 

“I’m more interested in television. He just think it’s a phase.” Theo shrugged as he finished off his beer.

 

“Don’t let your dad control your future. Or your dates, for that matter.”

 

Theo smiled at congenially before his eyes flickered to behind Ian. He watched something for a while before turning back to Ian. He gave him a sad smile before addressing Ian.

 

“I hope for your sake you aren’t with that guy. Dude just stumbled into the coat closet, probably thinking it’s a bathroom.” Theo held up his bottle. “I’m going to dig up another one of these. You want one?”

 

“No,” Ian replied.

 

“Be right back.”

 

Theo gave Ian a small smile before heading off. Ian looked behind him and hesitated for a few seconds before stalking in the direction of the Dale’s coat closet on the far side of the living room. He looked around the room to make sure no one was watching him before he slipped into the closet.

 

“Mickey?” Ian called softly. “Mickey?”

 

Instead of answer, Ian found himself being pushed against the wall the furthest from door. Guess he had found what he was looking for. There wasn’t a window or light on in the room, so they were pretty much in the dark except for a sliver of light peeking beneath the door. As Ian’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he could barely make out the blue of Mickey’s eyes. He knew they were there though. He could see them as clearly as he could feel Mickey’s hands resting on his forearm, grip firm but loose enough that Ian could break it if wanted.

 

“Mick,” Ian’s low voice was a question, a request, and a statement all at once.

 

Of course he didn’t answer. He did move his hands; first up Ian’s arms to his shoulders than to his chest. He gripped the fabric softly before smoothing his hands down Ian’s abdomen. This time when he said Mickey’s name, he knew exactly what he wanted and what he would receive in return.

 

Mickey’s hand shot his hand around Ian’s neck and pulled him down roughly to bring their lips together. Ian’s own hand found his way into Mickey’s hair, instinctually attempting to bring him closer. Mickey used his tongue to pry Ian’s mouth open and swallowed his subsequent groan when their tongues met. Ian could taste the alcohol on Mickey, making the kiss even more intoxicating. Just when they had established a rhythm, Mickey broke this kiss to plant kisses along Ian’s chin and neck.

 

“What are we doing?” Ian asked, his voice sounding as if he had been gargling rocks. In lieu of answer Mickey bit down softly where he could feel his pulse. “Jesus.”

 

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to find religion,” Mickey murmured, picking at the buttons on Ian’s shirt as he moved to the base of Ian’s neck.

 

Feeling personally victimized by this onslaught of affection, Ian bucked his hips without warning to grind his lower against the brunet’s. Even as he moaned lowly his pleasure, Mickey’s first instinct to back away. Predicting this, Ian moved his hands to his waist to effectively trap them together to create the best kind of friction between their erections. Mickey dropped his head to rest in the crook between Ian’s shoulder and neck, overwhelmed by the frottage. Ian tipped his head back and kissed him senseless as he moved slowly against him.

 

“Mickey!”

 

At first their mouths froze against each other before the voice hissed Mickey’s name again through the door. Mickey stepped away, trying to get some distance between the two. He was shaking his head, trying to clear it of its lustful haze when Karina opened the door. She seemed nonplussed at finding her boss and co-host together in a dark closet, noticeably flustered.

 

“Glad your clothes are still on,” she remarked. “Your dates are looking for you. I told them you were probably ripping each other’s heads off, not each other’s clothes.”

 

“How much can I pay you to go away?” Ian asked. The full weight of the transgression he had just made suddenly bearing down on him.

 

“You can’t afford me, Gallagher. You two coming out anytime soon?”

 

“Jesus, Karina, can you tell them we’re having a fucking smoke,” Mickey said abruptly before softening his tone. “Please. We’ll be out in a second.”

 

After leveling them with a look, she turned on her heels and stepped out of the walk in closet. The second they were alone again, Mickey reached for Ian.

 

“What are we doing?” Ian asked again against the brunet’s mouth.

 

“You need me to draw you a fucking picture?” Mickey licked the outline of Ian’s mouth. “We should ditch them.”

 

Ian chuckled softly and pushed the host away. God, they were in deep shit. As long as they worked together, this would keep escalating until they both combusted. The next person who walked in on them may not be as tolerant as Karina. Suddenly, it seemed to Ian the best way was to just give in.

 

“We have to go back to them,” Ian told Mickey. When he opened his mouth to protest, Ian stopped him. “We’ll figure something out later.”

 

Mickey didn’t answer but bit his lip as he ran his hands up and down Ian’s chest, creating friction in the best kind of way. Ian gave him one last kiss before helping pushing him out of the closet.

* * *

 

After that, it was pretty much a blur for Ian. He remembered forcing himself to cool down before finding Theo and telling him Fiona had an emergency and needed him home. His date had understood and drove him home with a promise to keep in touch as friends. Ian watched him drive off before walking in the direction of the nearest train station.

 

He doesn’t even remember memorizing Mickey’s address, but in half an hour found himself out of his door, knuckles rapping on the door, fighting the urge to run while he still had a chance. There seemed to be a sense of urgency that he couldn’t shake. If they didn’t sort out there shit then it would spill over into work and the show and would cause all of this tension which was just unhealthy—

 

“Hi,” a gruff voice greeted him.

 

Ian looked up from his feet into the face of Ritchie the Physical Therapist. He looked downright domestic in his wife beater, holding a spatula with even a fucking towel over his shoulder. Ian wondered for a beat whether he had the wrong place but a quick glance into the apartment told him he had the right address.

 

“You’re Mickey’s producer, right?” Ritchie asked.

 

“Ian,” he introduced himself, combing his brain for an excuse to be here. He knew Mickey had a date, of his own, yet he found himself at his talent’s door. “I, uh, he was kinda sick at the party. I just wanted to check on him.”

 

Just to prove of how much of jerk he wasn’t, Ritchie didn’t point out that he could have easily called. Instead he merely responded by saying, “I gave him some aspirin and threw him in the shower. Right now, I’m making these little homemade pizzas to ease his stomach. It’s my parents recipe.”

 

“Great. As long as he’s feeling better. I’m just gonna…”

 

Ian turned to leave, every ugly insecurity he had about his involvement with Mickey suddenly validated in the form of six foot four Magic Mike look alike. He felt himself walking away from the door before his brain could even catch up to his feet. He hadn’t gotten very far when he felt a large hand on his shoulder. Ritchie had followed behind him.

 

“It’s written all over your face, dude,” Ritchie told him. Not maliciously, of course. Ian doubted there was a malicious bone in his body. “Either go for it or don’t. Stop jerking him around.”

 

As if this wasn’t more mortifying enough. Ian didn’t reply. He just left the beefy Italian standing there, spatula in hand.

 

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he breathed in the frigid Chicago air. He never hated the city more than he did today. It New York, his life had been simple and set to a rigid schedule. It seemed in Chicago all that rigidity slipped away, only to be slowly replaced by chaos. He only hoped he could make it out intact.


	5. Crash Into Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was brought to my attention that I uploaded the wrong copy of this chapter earlier so I replaced it with the right copy. If there are still any glaring mistakes, be sure to let me know. Sorry for any confusion.

Go for it or don’t.

Those words managed to haunt Ian for the duration of his weekend. Debbie had needed money for her college applications and to retake the ACT, so he picked up extra shifts at the station for those too hung over from Dale’s party to come in. As he adjusted audio levels and sweet talked potential advertisers, he wondered if Boulder or New Orleans would be a better fit. If he was really going to to take control of his life and leave Chicago for good, he needed a viable plan. He needed an exit strategy now, or he would fall back into familiar patterns. Like falling for someone he worked with.

He had taken enough psych and diversity courses to recognize the power relations weren’t the same as with he and Kash. He and Mickey were more or less equals, though Ian would admit his title did ultimately supersede Mickey’s. Mickey also wasn’t married with kids, but the situation was still messy as fuck. If Merrick found out, at least one of them would be out of job. Most likely Ian since Mickey was contracted with the station for another year and a half. Especially now that the old man had it in his head that Ian and Theo were the perfect pair.

Go for it or don’t.

He shouldn’t. He’s not going to. Except that they have an easy friendship and rapport that Ian’s never found with anyone and he knows things about Mickey’s life that he’s probably never told anyone and Mandy already feels like another sister to him and they have passion to spare. Their interlude in the closet more than proved that. He had went over to Mickey’s place with the intention of finishing what they started with a vague promise to figure out the rest later. Now that his mind is not clouded with lust, he can see how short sided that idea was. He should just let Mickey have Ritchie -- something perfect and easy and not held together by a pharmaceutical cocktail.  

Ian’s resolve lasted for all of a day and half.

* * *

“I’m sick,” Karina coughed into the phone twice.

“Sick?” Mickey glanced out of the taxi window at the snow swirling around the Chicago skyscrapers. The last he checked the temperature was a few notches from 0, and a storm was moving in from up north that threatened to snow the entire county in. But like they say, the show must go on.

“I’m allergic to snow.”

“You live in Chicago!”

“But I’m from Texas. Central Texas, not even the cold parts.”

He rolled his eyes as his cab pulled to a stop at his destination. He paid the cab, tipping nearly fifty percent because of the shitty weather, and hurriedly ran into the building. All the while Karina was droning on about the drastic climate change negatively effecting her body chemistry.

“You tell Gallagher?” he asked as he signed in at the front desk, noting how deserted the building was. Seemed like Karina wasn’t the only one staying in.

“I thought I would give you two a reason to talk,” he could hear her shit eating grin. “He really didn’t call you?”

With Mandy halfway across the country, it seemed Karina had stepped in to take the role of annoying talking animal. He was usually tight lipped and let her babble on when they were off air, but he had let it slip that Ian hadn’t called him when Gallagher usually sent him at least five work related emails during the weekend.

“No, but I didn’t call him either,” he told her, pressing the button for the station floor.

“God, you guys are pathetic,” she laughed.  “And you just kicked Ritchie to the curb?”

“We’re just gonna be friends.”

Not that Ritchie was that happy about it. Mickey couldn’t deny he had led him on, believing his own lie that he could get over Ian with a quick fling. His plan had backfired spectacularly after getting Ian’s hands on him again. He went back out to the party, feigning illness to end his date early. And because he could not catch a fucking break, and because Ritchie was just that great of a person, he insisted on taking Mickey back to his place and nursing him back to health. The next morning Mickey broke it to him that he couldn’t be with anyone until he resolved things with Ian. He took it in stride, and for the first time in his life he was sincere when he promised a guy he dated that they would be friends.

“Well, I’ll be listening in,” Karina promised.

They hung up shortly after Mickey stepped onto his designated floor. Usually, he spent his down time before the show in his office, preparing last minute material for the show. Today he turned the corner that lead him toward Ian’s office. At the very least, he had to break the news Karina wouldn’t be making it. At most, maybe a promise to finally consummate their relationship. The last few months had been torture, and he was pretty sure he was getting callouses on his right hand. He felt himself flush at the thought of Ian’s hands on him and was suddenly more anxious than ever to see him.

He paused at the empty desk where Ian’s overly peppy intern, Sara, usually sat when he came around. While his show was at the dead of night, she seemed to be around no matter what time of day he came around, micromanaging Gallagher's schedule. Mickey glanced around anxiously, feeling like a kid sneaking into the kitchen after his parents had gone to bed.

“I’ll call you?”

Mickey turned his head at the sound of a deep voice coming from down the hall.

“Yeah,” he instantly recognized the voice as Ian’s. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Liar.” But it was said without any heat behind it.  Sweet, even. And getting closer and closer. Mickey knew he should bolt, but his feet seemed to be glued in place. A moment later he was punished for his lead feet by seeing Ian emerge from the hallway with Theo Merrick in tow who had his hand dangerously low on Ian’s back. “Better go before the storm catches up with me. How late are you here for?”

“Til tw--” Ian turned sharply, noticing Mickey leaning against his intern’s desk for the first time. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mickey muttered, scratching his nose.

Theo looked between the two for a moment before dropping his hand. The fucker had the grace to look sheepish as he muttered a quick bye to Ian before scurrying off. Occasionally Mickey wondered if he had lost his Southside edge, but it seemed he could still intimidate with the best of them. Of course that left Ian and Mickey alone for the first time since they practically melted into each other. Neither of them didn’t seem to know what to do with each themselves; Ian flushing a light red, Mickey rocking on the balls of his feet. When the tension got to be too much, Mickey said the only thing he could think of.

“Karina’s not going to be able to make it,” he choked out. “Something about Texans being allergic to snow.”

“Great thing she lives in Chicago,” Ian smirked. Mickey noted the ambivalence in his eyes, the hesitancy in his gait as he took a step toward him. “Turns out your engineer also suffers from the same thing.”

“Manny’s out too? That guy hasn’t missed a day since before I started working here.”

There was some fancy French word for this: frisson. A shivering sensation caused by stimuli, usually pleasurable lasting from about five to seven seconds. Except around Ian it felt neverending. Every look he sent his way felt like a caress on Mickey’s skin, every word uttered at him felt like hot breath in his ear. Seeing him touch Theo, listen to him so intently, knocked the wind out of him. And having Gallagher all up in his face didn’t exactly help his breathing problems.

“Guess your date went well?” Mickey asked, desperately praying he didn’t sound as bitter as he felt.

“Probably not as well as yours,” Ian replied.

Mickey recoiled as if he had been hit. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I have to… send some emails.”

“Gallagher!”

But Ian was already walking out of sight, not even flinching when Mickey called his name. Just as well. He didn’t know what he would say if Gallagher had turned around.

* * *

Ian attempted to ignore Mickey’s furtive glances thrown in his direction as he watched the clock countdown the minutes until the show began. Fortunately the equipment was easy enough to get reacquainted with. His job had him putting out administrative fires most of the time. It was refreshing going back to basics. If he just made it through the next two hours, and the impending blizzard, he was going to Fiona’s and make hot cocoa with Liam. That thought alone was keeping him going.

“One minute,” Ian signaled. “I’ll make sure to be quiet this time.”

“Actually with Karina not here, I feel like I’m just going to sound like a senile old man talking to myself,” Mickey replied. “So if you wanna chime in from time to time… feel free.”

Ian did look up then, just as they were reaching the thirty second mark. “Are you not an old man because you’ve been doing a really good impression.”

“Fuck off.”

As usual though, Mickey’s bark was bigger than his bite. The show went off without a hitch. The in-studio guests that had committed to showing up opted to phone in because of the weather. Even Karina called in to give them shit. It felt suspiciously like the weeks they had spent being friends before the kiss in the kitchen had thrown them into a place that they hadn’t quite recovered from. There was a brief moment of awkwardness during the Q&A portion as Mickey read an email from a listener.

“Hey, Mick, I’m a big fan of the show,” he read, old man reading glasses perched on his nose as he looked down on his laptop. “I’ve always had a fantasy about having sex at work,and recently I have began flirting with a fellow co-worker of mine. We often stay late for work and it would be easy for us to rendezvous there. Is this a fantasy worth indulging or an unnecessary job risk?”

Mickey’s face most definitely did not flush as he cleared his throat.  He was about to spout some bullshit about sexual harassment when he heard Ian begin speaking.

“You know, when I was really young I dated my boss,” he was saying. “I was fifteen and he was almost forty. Office romances can be hot, exciting. Especially under the threat of being caught.”

“That a recommendation?” Mickey prodded.

“Have an illicit, ephebophilic relationship with a married man? No. But I can’t say that I wasn’t enjoying at the time or at least I thought I was. An office fling between two consenting adults wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

When Mickey lifted his head and met Ian’s green gaze he could of swore he saw the heat and hesitancy that he had been warring with for months. He knew it had been hell on him but he finally realized it might have been just as bad for Ian. Not that he even wanted to dwell on what that meant. It would be better for all involved if they got away from each other as soon as possible.

* * *

As it turned out, neither of them were going anywhere, anytime soon. One look out the window and he could see the cars swallowed by snow. If Ian’s cell had any service, he would call Derek right now and thank him for leaving a pull out sofa in the office. He even had a spare Blackhawks blanket Dale gave him stashed somewhere. He had taken off the majority of his work clothes, leaving only his undershirt and boxers when there was a knock at his office door, He opened it to find a haggard looking Mickey, holding a similar blanket.

“Cab wouldn’t pick you up?” Ian asked, letting him in.

“Told me to fuck off,” Mickey shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“And you’re here because…?”

“Cuz I remember Derek had a pull out couch that I’m praying to God he didn’t bang my sister on.”

“You’d sleep in the same bed as me? Isn’t that kinda… gay?”

Mickey rolled his eyes as he tugged off his shoes. “Takes one to know one.”

Ian laid down the bed, testing the length of the blanket. He managed to get it up to his upper chest when he spotted Mickey tugging off his shirt. Ian pulled the blanket over the head burying the groan that threatened to excuse his throat. After a moment, he felt the bed dip under Mickey’s weight. Only then did he peek from under the blanket to see Mickey lying down with his back turned to Ian, as close to the edge as he could possibly be without falling off. Ian followed suit, wrapping the too short blanket around him.

* * *

_This dream started out more or less like the others. Ian was reclined on his back, in a field somewhere or meadow, as naked as the day he was born. Luckily, Mickey was naked too, grinding into his lap, their cocks sliding together. He reached down to clasp their erections in his hand--_

“Ian,” a voice pierced threatened to pierce his consciousness. “Ian.”

He burrowed closer to the warmth pressed against him. Maybe if he closed his eyes really tight and focused, he could get back to his dream.

“Ian!”

He felt the warmth turn over and then he was being shaken. He opened his eyes and saw Mickey a breath away. He cursed under his breath and tried to extract himself (his legs were kind of tangled up with the brunet's).

“Ian,” Mickey breathed before he crashed their mouths together.

It was a mess of a kiss, really. All chapped lips and bumping teeth. Their coordination didn’t get better until Mickey straddled him. He leaned over and licked himself into Ian’s mouth, fingers skimming their way over Ian’s chest, pulling up Ian’s undershirt up along the way. He tore himself away to pepper the newly exposed skin with kisses.

“Mickey,” Ian murmured.

“Shut up,” Mickey grumbled.

Ian moved restlessly against him and that just wouldn’t do. Mickey had been fantasizing about the prick for months and his stupidly, ridiculously toned body. Of course the only hurdle in his plan to worship Gallagher’s body would be Gallagher himself. Like right now, when Mickey’s only objective was sucking a hickey above the waistband of his boxer and the redhead had a hand snaked through his hair, trying to urge him up. He dug his fingers in Gallagher’s waist as retaliation before kissing away the sting.

“Mick, what the fu--”

Mickey surged forward and give him a quick peck. “Stop interrupting me.”

“We should talk about this,” he murmured, his hands skirting around his waist.

“No.” To prove his point, he buried his face in Ian’s neck and began working another mark. Something about that alabaster skin of Gallagher’s he just wanted make his own, personal canvas.

“We… we should stop.” Ian’s actions betrayed his words as he craned his neck to allow Mickey better access. “Stop and talk about this.”

With a loud groan, Mickey rolled himself off of Ian, shifting his legs in an attempt to ease the urgency straining his boxers. It was taking all of his restraint to not jump Ian again while he looked absolutely ravished by Mickey’s handiwork. It didn’t help that the producer had sat up to discard his undershirt.

“You were the one dry humping me, you know,” Mickey told him. “Muttering my name while you were grinding your dick against my ass.”

“I was asleep,” Ian told him, resting his arms on his knees. “Sleep humping. It happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah, well, how about awake humping? Or are you only into sleeping beauties?”

Ian seemed to consider it for a long moment before muttering something that suspiciously sounded like _fuck it_ before pulling off his boxers. Mickey watched awestruck - exactly how magnificent was that thing - before following suit. When they were both naked, they reached for each other, a tangle of limbs, both trying to get the upper hand. Mickey was a dirty fighter, all shin kicking and nail scratching. Ian finally managed to pin him to the bed, hands pressing down into the mattress, legs on either side of his waist, occasionally their erections pressing against one another’s. The room was filled with the sounds of their harsh and uneven breathing.

“Stay still,” Ian warned before swooping down.

He started with a blistering, filthy opened mouth kiss, moving Mickey hands above his head. He could feel Mickey’s body straining to sit up, but refused to give even a little. In retaliation, the brunet began to use his tongue to wreck havoc on Ian and shifting his hips to increase the friction between their dicks. When Ian pulled away to kiss along Ian’s jaw, Mickey still found a way to put his mouth to work.

“Dreaming about me?” he asked as Ian found a particularly sensitive spot near his ear. “About this?”

In lieu of answering, Mickey worked his way down Mickey’s neck, chest, taking time for nipples before releasing his arms. He used one his newly freed hand to grasp Mickey’s dick.

“Shit,” Mickey gasped, rocking into Ian’s hand.

“I dream about his every night,” Ian tightened his grip. “Sometimes you’re riding me or I have you spread out for me on all fours or squirming beneath me, calling my name, but it’s always you.”

And just when Mickey is about to choke out a smart ass reply, when Ian leans down and swallows him whole. He instinctively strokes into the warmth before Gallagher pins his hips to the mattress with his fingers. Ian is so much more enthusiastic than Mickey would have pegged him for, making the most obscene noises. On a particularly great slide down, his teeth graze Mickey, offering just the right shade of pain with this sublime pleasure. So much pleasure that he doesn’t register  Ian’s hand skirting around his inner thigh or his balls. That’s why he jolts in surprise when breached with a finger.

“Gallagher,” he rasped, his hands still above his head trying to find purchase on the pullout.

It was embarrassing how soon it was over after that. Mickey came with a shudder, Ian licking him clean, not pulling away until he whimpered from the sensitivity.

“Can you tell me why we didn’t do that a lot sooner?” Mickey wondered. Ian laughed from somewhere between the juncture of his thighs. “Hey, hey, get up.”

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ian asked as he rolled onto his back, erection jutting into the air.

“Supplies.” Mickey sprang out of bed and wrapped a blanket around his nudity. “I’ll be back.”

“Mickey!” Ian called to the fleeing figure. He cupped himself, praying for some kind of relief. He lost himself for a moment, stroking himself earnestly until he heard a soft,

“Goddamn, Gallagher,” he turned and saw Mickey wearing the blanket like a toga and carrying--

“You have lube in your office?”

“I have a sex talk show. I get freebies. And good shit, none of that Astroglide bullshit.”

Mickey shrugged off the blanket and threw the lube and a condom at Ian before laying down on the bed. Gallagher regarded him incredulously.

“You’re a lazy fucker you know that,” Ian grabbed Mickey’s ankles, using them to pull him closer. “I start this whole thing, I suck your brains out through your dick, and you still want me to fuck you?”

“I didn’t realize what a hardship it was,” Mickey opened his legs, eager to accommodate as he watched Ian squirt a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

Ian unceremoniously breached him, two fingers moving around in increments. When he found what he was looking for, that bundle of nerves, Mickey clenched around him.  When he relaxed, Ian removed his hands.

“Gallagher!”

“I think it’s time you put in a little effort.”

“You serious?”

“I’m kinda tired.” Ian feigned a yawn, leaning back on his haunches. “You can prep yourself.”

Ian expected a bit more of a protest. Instead Mickey lubricated his finger and opened himself. He spread his legs as wide as comfortably possible, making sure Ian had the best view as he readied himself. When he added a third finger, he heard Ian’s sharp intake of breath and knew that little plan of his was backfiring.

When he knew he was ready, he turned to Ian who already had his cock sheathed. Mickey straddled him and lowered himself down, quickly burying himself to the hilt. He took a moment to get adjusted and savor the feeling of fullness.

“Think we,” Ian panted, fighting the urge to move, “waited too long.”

“No, shit, Sherlock,” Mickey moved experimentally. “Hard and fast?”

Ian nodded rocking his hips, meeting Mickey stroke for stroke. They worked up to an almost brutal pace. Mickey grinding down on him with enough force for the both of them, moving around in increments until he found his sweet spot. After that Ian was merely along for the ride, gripping his hips tight enough to leave bruises, finally climaxing with Mickey clenched tight around him. Afterwards, they collapsed in a mess of sweaty limbs before succumbing to exhaustion.

* * *

This time it was the smell of cigarette smoke that awoke Ian. He opened his eyes, wondering why the hell Lip or Fiona didn’t take it outside. It took him a moment to remember he was in his office… naked. Suddenly all the memories from the last few hours came rushing back. He turned on his side and found an equally as naked Mickey attempting to blow his smoke out of the window.

“I hope you know that’s not working at all,” Ian told him. “Still smells like an ashtray in here.”

“Figured you’d be a health nut,” Mickey took a final drag before tossing out. He walked back to the bed, kneeling on the edge.

“What time is it?”

“Little after eight. They’re finally letting the snow plows clear the roads. According to Merrick, the station’s going to open at eleven.”

“Good thing it’s my day off.”

Mickey found himself smiling. “Me, too. We should take this party back to my place once the roads are clear.”

It was inconceivable that this was the guy who he had sworn off days before. He had tried to keep his distance for months, reminding himself of all the shit that would happen if they ever found themselves in this exact situation.  Except now he can’t conjure a single reason why they shouldn’t be doing this, especially if Ian was going to be out of Chicago within the next year. Why not enjoy this while it lasted?

**  
**  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I try to buy your love with smut. Sorry for the late update (spring semester is kicking my ass) but thanks for reading.


	6. Blow

They have rules. Number one, they keep it out of work. Things more or less stay the same there; Ian tries to make changes, Mickey resists them because he’s a transplant from the Depression era. Second, by mutual agreement they agree not to tell anyone outside of Karina, and maybe their family. Third, they don’t talk about the future. That one is more unspoken, but since Ian hasn’t mentioned changing his plans to move on, Mickey assumes all this is temporary. So he just takes this for what it is - which is pretty fucking amazing.

It’s not just the sex (though it goes without saying that it’s pretty mind blowing between the two). Mickey’s apartment serves as their cocoon, shielding them from the rest of the world. Ian plays video games on one of Mickey’s million consoles while Mickey reads a book for work. Sometimes Mickey cooks using the recipes Mandy sends him from Pinterest - because apparently everyone getting married is fucking obsessed with Pinterest - and doesn’t let Ian touch so much as a butter knife because who puts ketchup on eggs. It’s great and easy and probably the best relationship of any kind Mickey’s ever had.

He’s debating whether or not to tell Mandy, who’s Skyping him from her place in Miami, and showing him swatches that she’s thinking of using for her invitations. He’s fiddling with another one of the samples while she debates the merits of lime over lilac.

“You know you’re probably the worst Mister of Honor,” Mandy told him, looking up from her swatches. “And what the hell is that?”

“Just something I’m trying out for Friday’s show,” he muttered.

“Anal-ese? What are you pouring it on your Wheaties?”

“Fuck off. It’s supposed to taste like whip cream.”

“Wait, you dumped that Ritchie guy right? You’re not seeing anyone. Who are you gonna even use it on?”

“New guy.” As if one cue, Mickey’s phone buzzed with a text from Ian. He grinned as he looked up at Mandy. “Gotta go. My eleven o'clock is here.”

“Mick!”

He opened the door just in time to see Ian bounding up the stairs. Figures, he would be too much of a health nut to take the elevator. He doesn’t waste any time kissing Mickey to the point of breathlessness in lieu of greeting. It didn’t take long to learn Ian was a total fucking puppy who craved the smallest of touches. He pulled away, still rubbing small circles into Mickey’s wrist.

“Hey,” Mickey murmured. He let in Ian and locked the door behind them. “You’re late.”

“Domestic emergency,” Ian told him. “What do you have in your hand?”

“Nothin--”

Mickey looked down and found the lube he was investigating earlier still in his hand. He rushed to put it away, anywhere, feeling himself flush. It was halfway in his jean pocket when Ian reached around with his goddamn, awfully long arms and took it. Ignoring Mickey’s pleas and well placed kicks to the shin, he read the label.

“Whipped cream flavored?” Ian mused.

“It’s for the show,” Mickey muttered, collapsing on his couch in shame. “One of our new advertisers sent over a care package, so I could talk about their stuff on-air.”

“A package? Where?”

Ian looked around as if a giant blue arrow was going to highlight a box of sex toys. When it became apparent what he was looking for wasn’t in plain sight, he crowded Mickey on the couch. He toed off his shoes and shed his jacket and leaned heavily on the brunet who was doing his best to brood.

“How exactly were you going to try this out?” Ian finally asked.

“You sound like Mandy,” Mickey went off. “Look, I’m trying to just trying to educate--”

“Cuz I was thinking, if you really wanted to test it out and give a thorough, thoughtful review you’re gonna need my help.”

Mickey turned to throw Ian a dirty look. Couldn’t the prick see he was humiliated? Caught anal-ese handled.

Apparently Ian wasn’t adept at reading emotions because he thought now was the perfect opportunity to slide his hand up Mickey’s thigh and bury his face in his neck, planting open mouthed kisses where he could feel Mickey’s pulse speed up. His hand skirted around Mickey’s groin in an attempt to find the zipper on his jeans.

“Gallagher,” Mickey lifted his hips to help Ian work his zipper open.

It didn’t take long for his hand to close around his target. It’s pitiful how soon Mickey gets hard under Ian’s ministrations. When he was standing at full attention, so to speak, Ian sunk to his knees and pulled off boxers and jeans leaving Mickey naked from the waist down. Ian grinned from his place between Mickey’s legs and ran his hands over Mickey’s thighs.

“Give it to me,” Ian said softly, leaning down to press kisses along Mickey’s leg.

“Give…?” Mickey looked around frantically as Ian kissed his way higher and higher. He finally found the tube underneath a throw pillow and held it in front of Ian.

“Turn around.”

Mickey turned so his back was facing Ian and braced himself on the back of the sofa. He had a fleeting thought about ruining his couch when he felt Ian’s hands on him again. He ran his hands over Mickey’s back, subtly pushing his upper half down as he pushed his lower half closer to him. His hands landed on Mickey’s ass. He cupped it appreciatively before leaning forward and trailing kisses from the base of Mickey’s spine to his ass, breath hitching when Ian mouthed at his opening.

Mickey gripped the couch almost painfully in anticipation. When Ian finally licked his opening, the tension began to subside. Ian worked him until he was practically boneless then added a finger. Mickey gasped at the invasion, the lube dulling the usual sting. It turned to outright pleasure when Ian resumed eating him out as he stretched him. Ian’s muffled moans matched Mickey’s own enthusiastic ones. When he couldn’t he stand anymore, Mickey reached down to grasp his erection. He jerked himself seeking relief and rocking back into Ian’s tongue. A brush against his prostate and he lost it.

Mickey collapsed, careful to avoid the wet spot, as lay down on his couch. Ian dropped his head on Mickey’s stomach, drawing small circles on his waist.

“Don’t even think about kissing me,” Mickey warned.

“You don’t like the taste of whip cream and ass?” Ian asked.

“Give me like five minutes and I’ll reciprocate.” Even though he couldn’t see himself moving for at least another week.

“I already…”

Mickey looked down sure enough there was another incriminating stain on his couch. He playfully pushed Gallagher’s head away and stood up on wobbly legs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called.

“I need to find something to get the come stains out of my couch!”

* * *

Ian and Fiona walked into the kitchen, him from the backdoor, her from the living room, around the same time the next morning. Both wearing clothes from the night before. They stared at each other for a stunned moment before Fiona raised her hands in surrender.

“Breakfast?” Fiona asked. “I think we might actually have meat.”

Ian leaned against the counter as he watched Fiona pull ingredients out of the fridge. For the most part they were ships in the night, her working when the kids were at school, Ian working evening and nights. She had taken over as a manager for a restaurant called Patty’s Pies when the old manager moved to be closer to his kid. She told him that managing a restaurant wasn’t that different from managing a household of five kids, and she got to bring home the pie they were supposed to throw out so it had perks. Even though, she was around food all day, Fiona didn’t seem to mind making bacon.

“Long night?” Ian asked.

“Yes, but not in the way I expected,” Fiona explained. “You know I’ve lived in Chicago all my life and never been to Navy Pier.”

“We should take Liam sometime.”

Fiona made a noncommittal noise as she stared a bit too intently into the pan. “I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I met someone. Different from everyone I’ve ever dated before.”

“Can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

Fiona turned around abruptly and looked right into Ian’s eyes. “She’s a woman. Like with boobs and a vagina and I’m freaking out here,”

“Oh.”

Ian tried to school his features into a neutral expression. Fiona had never had the best luck with men -- then again, neither had he -- and the last few years it seemed she had given up altogether. The on and off with Jimmy-Steve had lasted until he was a junior in college before crashing in a particularly spectacular fashion. He heard through Debbie that Fiona hadn’t dated seriously since then, only going on dates for the free food.

“What’s her name?” Ian asked. Fiona was nothing but supportive about his orientation, so he was glad to return the sentiment.   
  


“Angela,” Fiona gushed. “She’s a really great person, Ian. Kind and generous. I just don’t know what I’m going to tell the kids if I want to bring her around.”

“Probably just what you told me. You raised the world’s least judgemental kids. Except for Lip, don’t know where the fuck you found that one.”

“To be fair I was in first grade when he was born.”

Ian chuckled as he heard the thundering footsteps of the kids, then the familiar slam of the door of the bathroom door and a loud curse, presumably from Carl or Liam, before both boys make their way downstairs.  Ian just manages to elbow them out of the way to get his share of bacon. Just like old times.

* * *

The other new development in Ian’s life besides his new, non-relationship with Mickey was his friendship with Theo. Whenever he was around, he made a special effort to take Ian out to lunch, or at least stop by. Sara the Intern was convinced that Theo was in love with Ian and was trying to win him over with Panera Bread macaroni no matter how many times he insists their relationship is strictly platonic. Even Mickey’s sniffs around whenever he hears Theo’s in the building, He always seems torn between marking his territory and keeping his distance to avoid further suspicion.

“The guy’s up to no good,” Mickey swore as Ian switched out the headphones in the booth. It was a sham of a reason to get them alone while Theo wasted time in Ian’s office.

“That’s funny coming a former permanent resident of the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center,” Ian smiled easily as he stowed away the equipment. “He just doesn’t know anybody here.”

“What, his daddy doesn’t have any friends for him to play with?”

“Stop.”

Mickey was looking suspiciously like a sad child as he sat in a chair near the engineering board. Ian looked around the room, making absolute certain no one was around, before kissing the frown off Mickey’s face until he felt him smile against his mouth. Then he kissed him again just for good measure.

“You’re the only one who gets to play, Mick,” Ian murmured lowly. pulling away.

“Get over here,” Mickey tried to push his chair closer, but Ian slid out of reach. “Gallagher!”

“The rules remember.”

Mickey turned around and opened his folder, hoping that whatever Karina had typed up on the page would cure his hard on. Not that he could make much sense of the words on the page when Ian pulled up a chair to sit next to him, yet careful to stay a safe distance.

“I got my invitation to Mandy’s wedding,” Ian told him.

“I saw she went with the champagne and cream for the invites,”  Mickey replied. “Classy choice.”

“I’ve never been to Miami. Dude, we’re going to burn and look so awful in the wedding pictures.”

We. Ian planned to stick around for that long. Another four, five months. They had at least that amount of time together. They had promised to take it one day at a time, but Mickey couldn’t help get excited at the prospect of another five months of Ian in his life.

“You’re in the wedding party?” Mickey asked.

“Derek recruited me after Mandy insisted you stand behind her,” Ian explained. “You know the best man and the maid of honor sleeping together is kind of a tradition.”

“Got thing we got a head start.”  
  


Ian leaned in for another kiss when the door swung open. They sprang apart, only relaxing a little bit when they saw it was Karina laden with a cup of coffee and her notebook for tonight, bundled underneath five layers of clothes. She only rolled her eyes at the sight of them before unwrapping herself from the various layers of wool and down.

“You two are disgusting,” Karina told them as she shed a sweatshirt to reveal a cardigan which she began to unbutton. “Gross. And Ian you left your second boyfriend with that over eager intern of yours.”

“I don’t have any boyfriends,” Ian assured her. “Have a good show tonight.”

Ian left, resisting the urge to give Mickey one last kiss. Karina threw him a sly glance before he slunk out the door… and right into both Merricks. Harvey was in a three piece suit while Theo looked about two feet tall in his worn out Notre Dame crew neck shirt. He was desperately trying to communicate something with his eyes that Ian just wasn’t quite getting, still trying to get his bearings with Mickey behind the wall, and his boss in front of him.

 

“Ian Gallagher,” Harvey clapped an arm around him and lead him down the hall. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Yes, sir?” Ian looked at Theo who only shrugged.

“You keep dodging my invitations, so I finally decided to pick my bone with you in person. I know you have a small sibling at home that you have to care for, and I have no problem with you bringing you him along. As you can see I have no problem with interracial children.”

“Invitations?”

They were in the foyer now that lead to the reception area where Sara was watching avidly. Harvey turned to Ian and looked at him as if he had eight noses. His brow frowned as he explained, “A dinner party at our place in Highland Park. Corrine wants to meet you, but Theo told us that you’ve been busy at the station and taking care of your little brother.”

“Right…” Ian nodded. “I can set aside some time Sunday evening.”

“Wonderful, I knew Theo was just having trouble closing the deal. Gotta head uptown.”

Harvey barely spared his son a glance as he gave Ian a final handshake and left without much fanfare. As soon as he was out of eyesight, Ian walked toward his office, knowing Theo was following. The second the door clicked behind him, Ian rounded on Theo.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Ian asked, abusing his hair with his hands. “Your parents want me to come over for dinner? They know about Liam? I thought you told him we didn’t have any chemistry -- that weren’t going to work out. He thinks we’re ‘meeting the parents’ serious.”

All that hot air seemed to escape Ian when he say just how small Theo looked. Like a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to be at a lost for words. He collapsed into the nearest chair, running a frustrated hand down his face.

“It’s just…” Theo began. “I was supposed to go to Northwestern. I was supposed to be a legacy, follow in my dad’s footsteps at the country’s best college radio station. I got waitlisted and ended up at Notre Dame, two hours away. It was like that my whole life; he wanted me to do cross country, I played basketball, he wanted me to marry a nice Highland Park girl until he found me blowing my childhood best friend in the treehouse we built together. Now he has it in his head that you and I are soulmates. I just… I can’t let him down again, Ian.”

Ian knew all about feeling like a failure. His bipolar disorder felt like a giant fuck you to all the time he had spent in ROTC and studying and just trying to not be Monica. Of course that was only after accepted his diagnosis, well after he hit rock bottom. In his mind, nothing was wrong until suddenly everything was. After the dust cleared, Ian’s relationships were in ruins. It took years to repair the bonds with his family and sometimes it felt as if things were still tenuous.

“Theo,” Ian tried to find the words that were comforting yet firm, “I’m involved with someone. I can’t…”

“Mickey, right?” Theo’s eyes lit up as Ian had just said the magic phrase. “It’s kind of perfect. If my dad thinks we’re together, he won’t suspect anything between you two.”

“That’s… too fucked up for words.”

Except that it was kind of perfect. You know, if it weren’t for Theo lying to his dad, and Ian lying to his boss. Though he guessed he was already doing that by keeping his relationship with Mickey secret in the first place. Still, he doubted Mickey would be on board with such an outrageous idea.

* * *

“It’s perfect,” Mickey told him Ian as he sat his groceries on the counter. “You walk around with the Golden Boy, get all the professional perks, he gets daddy’s approval, and we throw Merrick’s ass off our scent.”

“Until when?” Ian asked, handing Mickey a bundle of leeks.

“Til you go off to wherever you’re going after this.”   
  


Ian couldn’t help but note how small his voice got when he mentioned Ian leaving. He went over a plucked the Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream out of his hand, and examined the label thoughtfully.

“You know, we could have a lot of fun with this,” Ian mused.

“Shut up,” Mickey shoved past Ian to put away the last of the groceries.

“Karamel Sutra? I think you planned this.”

Mickey walked out of the kitchen, peeling off his shoes as he made his way to his bed. Ian watched him undress wistfully, putting away the cloth bags in the designated cabinet before making his way to Mickey, ice cream and spoon in hand.

* * *

"I'm not sure all of this white stuff is melted ice cream.”

“You’ll lick it up all the same.”

“Is that right? You know, I think there’s a some ice cream left.”

“I’ll eat it.”

“No. We’ll share it.”

Mickey hovered the spoon over Ian’s lips before slipping it past them, leaving vanilla ice cream to dribble down the side of his mouth which Mickey was more than happy to gather up with his tongue before giving Ian the sweetest open mouthed kiss he ever had. Ian shifted their position so that Ian was between Mickey’s legs. He broke their kiss to kiss his way down the pale column of his neck, sucking love bites on his down to Mickey’s chest. A hand skirt across Mickey’s nipples to the column between his legs and gripping him.

“We just…” Mickey lost his train of thought as Ian began slowly stroking him. “Fuck, Ian.”

Mickey reached down to reciprocate and brought Ian to full hardness before thrusting his hips to take him in. He wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist, using that as leverage to meet Ian thrust for thrust. He dug his nails into Ian’s back, trying to push him down further toward, unable to get close enough. He wasn't satisfied until they were flush against each other, mouths moving in tandem together. They climaxed like that, wrapped around each other, not sure where one began and the other one ended.

When Ian was the first one who found the motivation of to move. He rolled out of bed to find his discarded boxers just as the front door to the studio apartment opened.

“Mickey?!” a voice shrilled from the doorway. "Ian?"

 **  
** Mickey sat up, clutching the sheet to his body like a scandalized southern belle. “Derek? Mandy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fast tracked this chapter after the (awful) finale Sunday. For now, I don't plan on tuning in to the sixth season. but a lot could change between now and next year. I plan to stay active in the fandom and continue this story. Thanks for the support and leave comments and kudos if you feel so inclined.


	7. Hand Me Down

Just when Mickey even considers letting Ian touch his condiments, he does something completely ridiculous and unforgivable. Like order apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese on top. He reasoned if you swallowed come, you probably didn’t have the most refined palate. He watched Ian take a big bite of the the pie before flinching at the sharp pain in his knee.

“What the fuck, Mandy?” Mickey asked, rubbing his leg.

“I fly halfway across the country to see your pale ass and all you can do is make googly-eyes at Merida here,” Mandy complained.

“Babe, you came here to get fitted for your wedding dress,” Derek corrected. One venomous look from his fiancee and he stuffed his face full of chicken fried steak.

Mandy had refused to stay at Mickey’s place, claiming (not incorrectly) that Mickey and Ian had humped on every available surface. He still hadn’t completely got the stain out of his couch from the last time they used it. Derek in his rental car took them to the diner near the station where Mickey and Ian had shared their first meal. Mickey stabbed his baked potato as he grimaced at his sister.

“I wasn’t making google eyes or whatever,” he informed him, “I was just thinking how fucking disgusting it is to eat pie with cheese.”

“I’ve literally licked your asshole,” Ian deadpanned. “With less whipped cream.”

Mandy and Derek collectively groaned at the admission. They really were two peas in a pod, feeding off each other’s energy and working in tandem with each other. They communicated more with a few seconds of eye contact than Ian and Mickey managed with a full length conversation. They were even eating off the same plate. They were the gross ones. Really.

“Where are you staying?” Ian asked, trying for neutral.

“The Hilton downtown,” Derek said. “It’s right next to this dress shop that Mandy saw on Pinterest on something.”

“I saw it on the Wedding Channel,” Mandy interjected. “And Mickey’s taking me tomorrow, so I can say yes to the dress or whatever the fuck it is the bride does.”

“No, fucking thank you,” Mickey scoffed. “I’d rather deep throat a cactus.”

“That implies you have some kind of choice.”

Ian and Derek exchanged knowing looks before digging back into their food. It took all of fifteen seconds before Mickey and Mandy were lapsed back into sibling bickering. Even though Mickey was trying to make a case for why his presence would be totally inappropriate in a wedding dress shop, Ian could see smile lines around the corners of his mouth that hadn’t been there before and the tension of being caught post coitus seemed to be ebbing away. It was a Mickey he hoped to see more often.

“How did you two even hook up anyway?” Mandy was asking. “I thought he was ruining your show.”

“And Mickey was a stubborn asshole,” Derek finished.

Ian and Mickey both shifted in their seats uncomfortably. There had been a noticeable uneasiness between them since Mandy and Derek had (abused their spare key privileges) walked in on them. Mickey had scurried into his bathroom, the sheet wrapped around him as if protecting his virtue. That left Ian to get dressed in the closet, still reeking of sex and sweat, and make conversation with Mandy as if he hadn’t been inside her brother only five minutes earlier. It was nearly an hour before Mickey emerged, freshly showered, and  refusing to meet Ian’s eye. The suggestion to get out of the apartment seemed to lift a heavy weight off of him. Now, it seemed as if their conversations since then only lead to spatting.

“That was the sexual tension talking,” Mandy speculated. “They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other the first night they might. Mickey especially.”

“Oh, my fucking God…” Mickey rolled his eyes in frustration.

Ian leaned an arm across Mickey’s shoulder and began to toy with his hair just as his phone vibrated on the table. Ian glanced at his phone screen groaned. “Shit, I gotta go.”

“What?” Mandy asked as Derek said, “Dude, we’re just catching up.”

“Gotta supervise, Liam.”

Ian stood up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as Mickey joined him. He mumbled something about walking Ian out, to the over affected awes of Derek and Mandy, and followed Ian outside. They stood awkwardly near each other, conscious of the fact they were only a few blocks from the station. Mickey had stick his hands in his pocket to reach out from touching Ian.

“Coming over tomorrow?” Mickey asked, rocking on the heels on his feet. “Promise we won’t be interrupted again.”

“Tempting…” Ian bit his lip, “but I have to do work at the station then have dinner at the Merricks. If you’re still cool with the whole thing.”

“Yeah, no, go ahead. I probably have a ton of stuff to do anyway for the wedding. Call me though?”

“Definitely.”

Ian saw the tension ebb out of Mickey and wished he could find a way to better reassure him, though he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his insecurity. He settled for patting Mickey on the neck before saying goodbye and heading to the nearest train station.

* * *

As it turned out, the wedding shop was not nearly as bad as Mickey had imagined. Mandy found her dream dress approximately five minutes after being engaged, before Derek took the job in Miami. However, with going back to school and the cross-country move, the wedding plans had been put on the back burner for the last month. Now, it seemed as if Bridezilla Mandy was coming back in full force.

She made Mickey wait outside of the dressing room while her and the attendant put on her dress. She shouted over the sound of rustling tulle.

“So… you and Ian?” he could hear her smirk.

“Thought we already did this at the diner,” Mickey reminded her.

“We asked, you dodged. Besides, you’d never give me the dirty details in front of Ian and Derek. Spill. Who knows how long it will take to get all the bells and whistles on?”

Mickey struggled to find the right words to describe his relationship with Ian. At least in a way that would make sense to someone like Mandy who had been broken for so long. She had spent her adolescence and young adulthood bouncing from toxic relationship to toxic relationship in a way that Mickey couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t until about six months after Terry kicked him out, when he was still staying with Casey, Mandy showed up pregnant. And not from one of her boyfriends.

It took everything it had in Micke not to kill Terry with his bare hands. The only thing that stopped him was Mandy herself. It took a long time for her to piece herself together. If she hadn’t been whole when she met Derek, Mickey couldn’t even fathom what kind of disaster that would have been.

His relationship with Ian -- if he even wanted to call it that -- was simultaneously playful and passionate, honest yet they seemed to be lying by omission, vulnerable but guarded. It seemed as if they were the embodiment of one step forward, two steps back. He had feelings that were too complex to even form, let alone voice. He shifted in his chair, trying to formulate his answer.

“We’re feeling each other out,” Mickey went for a diplomatic answer. “You ready?”

“Don’t laugh,” Mandy warned before stepping out of the dressing room.

Mickey vaguely heard the attendant describe the dress: ivory with a sweetheart neckline trimmed with lace applique and a scalloped hemline spilled into a chapel length train. Not that any of that shit mattered when he saw how beautiful his sister looked. Only the consideration of how expensive that thing probably cost,  kept Mickey from hugging her. She did the traditional 360 turn. face burning up in embarrassment.

“You look beautiful, Mands,” Mickey told her.

“Shut up,” Mandy replied automatically.

“Come on. You know I mean it.”

Mandy ran her hands over the lace nervously, mumbling something Mickey couldn’t quite make out.

“What?”

“Do you want to give me away?”

Mickey did get up and hug her then. He could feel the wetness of her tears hit his shoulder a moment later. She clung tight to him, her nails digging into his shoulder. When she pulled away. the attendant had a handkerchief waiting for her. Mandy wiped away her tears and let out a humorless laugh.

“What do you say?” Mandy asked again.

“Fuck, yes,” Mickey reassured her. “Wait, does that mean I have even more shit to do now?”

Mandy smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Come on. Let me get out of this thing, so we can get fucked up.”

* * *

As it turned out, Mandy found his liquor cabinet sorely lacking. After her fitting appointment was over, she dragged him to a spirit shop and bought way more alcohol than they could ever drink in one sitting. Not that it stopped them from trying. They popped a bowl of popcorn with extra salt and butter and turned on the latest Fast & Furious movie. He had a thing for Dwayne Johnson and Mandy had a thing for Vin Diesel so it worked out well enough. They were halfway through the movie, and a third of the way through a bottle of silver Patron when Mandy dug her face into his shoulder.

“How good is Ian in bed?” Mandy asked. “I mean, I walked in on him changing once and wow… like dude is seriously blessed in the dick department.”

Mickey took a long swig from the bottle before answering, “Definitely knows how to use it. He does this swivel thing, and I’ve gotten really flexile over the last weeks. I can like do a human pretzel thing.”

Mandy looked thoughtful for a moment before she got it and hissed at him. “You’re fucking with me. I hate you.”

“We’re just enjoying it while it lasts.”

“You know,” Mandy propped her chin on his shoulder, breath smelling like tequila and lime, “you could always give him a reason to stay.”

Mickey turned sharply, but Mandy had passed out on her shoulder. He rolled his eyes and reclined further on the couch, letting his little sister fall asleep with her head on his lap. It wasn’t too long before he fell asleep himself with the sound of roaring engines in the background.

* * *

Ian slipped into Mickey's apartment early the next morning without making a sound. He shed most of his clothes, save his boxers, and slid into bed, settling into the pillow next to Mickey’s, closing his eyes just as he felt a knee nudge his thigh.

"Hey," Mickey grumbled, voice heavy with sleep. "What are you doing here?"

Ian turned to find the brunet looking at him with hazy, half opened eyes.

"Just wanted to see you," Ian replied. "Go back to sleep."

Mickey made a consenting noise before scooting himself closer and wrapping an arm around Ian's waist, burying his face in Ian's chest. He vaguely wondered as he drifted back to sleep if this would ever be enough to keep Ian in Chicago for good.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the brevity of this chapter; it's finals week.

**Author's Note:**

> [my writing blog](http://gallaghervich.tumblr.com/)


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